Never Let Me Go
by attica
Summary: COMPLETE! 'It was never up to me to love Conrad Fisher. But it was up to me to decide what to do with it.' Set in the "blank years" after the wedding in 'We'll Always Have Summer.' Belly/Conrad. 1-parter sequel posted: The Christening.
1. Part 1

**Never Let Me Go**

**A/N**: This is basically to fill in the VERY vague last part of the last book of the Summer I Turned Pretty series, We'll Always Have Summer. I loved the end but I was very unsatisfied with the lack of details! So, to clarify, this begins with Belly's summer abroad in Spain when she gets her first letter from Conrad.

* * *

><p>"Isabel?"<p>

I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes until I had to open them back up again, startled. I looked up, feeling the lingering effects of my most vivid memories start to ebb away. Javier was in the doorway with a plate of food, still dressed in his white chef's jacket. He smiled at my belated acknowledgment and walked into my room, stepping out into the balcony with me. He handed me the plate as he fell down into the seat beside me, taking in the nighttime scenery.

"Thanks," I told him, setting the plate on the little table beside me. In my other hand, I tucked away the letter, running my fingers over the smooth paper, checking to see if it was really real, really there. That it wasn't something I had dreamed up and was going to suddenly vanish into a cloud of nothingness once I opened my eyes.

"Are you thinking about your boyfriend?" he asked me. Underneath us, I could hear footsteps and quiet whispers in the same deep Spanish accent as Javier's.

"I told you, Javier," I told him. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"But you _were_ thinking about someone," he said, giving me a side-glance. "You forget, Isabel, that I have three sisters. I know what those looks mean."

I sat in thought, watching the lights in the windows of the other buildings. Javier was quiet for a moment, too.

"Do you love him?"

I continued to look out and said nothing.

"You don't have to answer, you know," he said, shrugging. "I already know."

"Oh you do, do you?" I said, and he nodded, giving me a wry grin. "Then why ask?"

"Because," he said, leaning back. "I wanted to see if you would admit it."

I sighed. Suddenly, I felt little flutters in my stomach, like little butterflies in a jar. I thought I had outgrown this feeling. I was twenty now – twenty-one, in a few months' time – and I thought I had left all the painful relics of my past behind. For now, at least, while I was in this amazing new place, completely foreign to me, living with a host family that oohed and aahed over the few pictures I had taken with me – of my mom and dad, of Steven, of Susannah, and the Fisher boys. Here, I was Isabel Conklin, the American student studying abroad. I was not Belly, or Belly Button, or the girl that had torn the Fisher brothers apart.

I had been relishing my clean slate. That is, until today, when a letter came for me. When I'd first seen it on my bed, I just thought it was just another letter from my mom. Taylor never wrote; she preferred email or chat. Steven was also another one that had been swallowed up by the digital age, preferring email and texting over anything else. But it was my mom, the old soul, that still sent hand-written letters. She wrote to me regularly, and I wrote her back as often as I could, telling her about all about my experience living in Granada.

But as soon as I picked up the letter, I knew it was different. With some things, you just know. Subconsciously, it's like a wheel turns and things click into place and you suddenly just know. I just had that feeling. And the truth is, I hadn't had that feeling in a very long time.

"I do love him," I said quietly. "I've loved him for a very long time."

How could I possibly tell him that I had loved him for so long that I felt like if I didn't, if I just suddenly stopped, I would be lost? And wasn't it just the damndest thing? For so long I had hated that part of me, that part that couldn't stop loving him, no matter how inconvenient and irrational and destructive me loving him became. It was like a rotten, good for nothing limb that I just wanted gone. Buried, or burned, or thrown in a ditch. Just as long as it wasn't a part of me anymore.

But I had already gone down that road. I'd hurt a lot of people in the process of getting rid of something that I was now sure I could never really forget.

"So why aren't you with him?"

"It's complicated."

Javier shook his head and chuckled under his breath. "Women. They always say that."

"Maybe they say that because it's true," I told him.

"Maybe," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. He brushed his dark, curly hair from his eyes. "But usually it is less complicated than they say it is. Look, all I'm saying is that just because it's complicated doesn't mean it isn't mean to be."

He got up, brushing off his hands on his dark pants. He smiled down on me. "Good night, Isabel."

"Night Javier," I said to him. "Thanks for the food. You really didn't have to, you know."

"I'll stop bringing it when you stop taking it," he said, winking, before stepping back inside.

When he was gone, I brought the letter back out. It was in a plain white envelope, nothing extraordinary. But then I looked at his neat writing, flawless and calculated, spelling out my name: _Isabel Conklin_.

My eyes scrolled up to the left corner, tracing the just-as-neat curves and ridges in the letters of his name. _C. Fisher_.

ooo

_I hope you don't mind, I got your address from Laurel._

I waited for my mom to tell me that she had given my host home's address to Conrad, but part of me already knew I was waiting in vain. My mom had never been that kind of person. Susannah used to say that my mother's mouth was like a metal clamp when it came to secrets. She was never going to tell me unless I asked.

The night I bought a new phone card, I waited until she was home from work to call. She picked up on the first ring, and I could hear the TV faintly on in the background. Miles and miles away, I was back out in the balcony, sitting down.

We talked for a little about Steven, how things were at her job, and how things were going with me. I told her about the gypsies that put a curse on you if you didn't pay them, and how Javier always brought me home food from the restaurant and told me stories about the guys he worked with. But the more we talked about me, the more I kept thinking about Conrad's letter.

She was on speakerphone. I listened along as she rinsed something in the sink.

"Hey, mom?"

It took her a second to respond. "Mm-hm?"

I opened my mouth, trying to plan out the words. _I don't know if you already know this, but Conrad wrote to me_, or _Guess who I got a letter from the other day? You won't believe it: Conrad_. Either way, none of them sounded right. I didn't even know how _I_ felt about it, so how could I expect to go to her yet?

"I have to go," I said, instead. "I've got a lot of homework to do."

After I hung up, I leaned over the railing, sighing. I closed my eyes. Down the street I could hear the street band starting up their session, filling the air with their strong guitars and soaring trumpets, faintly making their way over to me.

ooo

One year after mine and Jeremiah's almost-wedding was Conrad's graduation. For once, my mom had given me an option: I could go, if I wanted, but she wouldn't force me. After all, Jeremiah would be there. Things had smoothed over between him and me, but not completely. When we saw each other, we exchanged a too-polite Hey or a weak smile, but nothing ever beyond that. Taylor said this was just the natural way of things after a break-up, so I listened to her. "You have to know that there is a possibility that you and Jeremiah can be good friends again," she'd said to me one day, over cupcakes and frappuchinos. "But I'm going to be real with you here, Belly: that won't be for a long, long time."

And it was Conrad. At school, it was Jeremiah and I, and even then you could cut the tension with a knife. How was it going to be with the three of us there, all together?

The last I had heard about Jeremiah and Conrad, they hadn't been on speaking terms yet. Maybe things were better now, and if they were, I wasn't going to mess it up. I would do anything to get the Fisher brothers back together again, even if it meant staying out of the picture.

The morning of the graduation, Steven knocked on my door. He was already dressed in a casual, long-sleeved button-up and nice jeans. His hair was clean and short – a requirement for his new job, now that he had officially sold his soul to Corporate.

"Belly, you coming?" he asked. But I could tell from the way he examined the ratty pajamas I was still in and the stack of borrowed DVDs next to my bed that he already knew the answer.

"No, but tell him congrats for me, will you?"

He nodded. "Will do." And then, just as he was turning away, he stopped. He grabbed a post-it from my desk and a pen, scribbling something down.

"Here. Just in case you change your mind."

And then with a jingle of his car keys, he was gone. I heard his footsteps descending the stairs and then my mom yelling up to let me know they were going, before the decisive click of the closed door.

I sat there for a minute. I knew what he had written even before I had gotten up and slowly walked over, turning the post-it pad to face me.

It was the address to Conrad's graduation ceremony.

ooo

I didn't know whether I would make it on time. I had left almost half an hour after Steven and my mom, and had been stuck in traffic for another half-hour. Parking was another disaster, so I ended up having to park nearly half a mile away, having to resort to running and power-walking the rest of the way to the ceremony.

From the back I could see Brown's school colors displayed all over the arena: seal brown, cardinal red, and white. I searched the sea of turned heads for Steven and my mom, maybe even Mr. Fisher and Jeremiah, but there were so many people, it was impossible to spot them.

I did end up getting there on time. A few minutes later, Conrad's name was called, and he crossed the stage, smiling, shaking his professor's hand and taking his diploma. Amongst the polite clapping I could hear cheering from some students, and one recognizable whoop from all the rest that was unmistakably Steven. Conrad was wearing the gold sash that the honor students wore.

I hadn't seen him since the day of the wedding. As I stood there, watching him walk across, smiling and happy, I felt my heart get filled and then break all over again. Even from far away, even with him having no idea that I had come after all, Conrad could still make me feel this heartbreaking jumble of so many different things, of simultaneous highs and lows, of shuddering inhales and painful exhales. He looked out into the crowd for the briefest of moments, and I froze in my spot. I thought he saw me but I knew it was impossible. There were so many people there that day, and I was just one. Me. Belly.

I left early so that I wouldn't have any chance of accidentally running into them afterwards. Numbly, I walked back to my car. When I got inside, I sat in the driver's seat, putting my hands on the wheel, as if ready to drive off. But I didn't. Instead I laid my forehead against the wheel and I cried.

ooo

Conrad's letters were hard to explain. This was the main reason I told myself why I hadn't told Taylor about them yet. The first one was as out of the blue as you could get, but the next month, another one came. He told me about med school and his job interning at a lab, after his professor had handpicked him out of two hundred students for the job. It didn't pay great, but he loved it, and if he did well, it was promising. He also told me about his dad, forever trying to pull him into working for him, to be the Father-Son duo that he'd always dreamed they'd be. But Conrad had never shared Mr. Fisher's love for money, which was why I had always somehow known Conrad would have made a terrible banker.

He asked me how I was doing, but I never wrote back. He asked me about Granada, too, but even then I had a feeling he knew it would take more than that to get a response. So he filled up his letters with funny yet introspective details about his days, and memories. Memories about Cousins, memories about me, memories about Susannah, memories about my mom. Memories about all of us, sometimes together, sometimes apart. But in all of that, he never mentioned why he started writing to me. Why, all of a sudden, it became something that mattered to him.

Or maybe he had. Maybe it was in the very last line of the second letter. It was written hastily, smudged a little, a dangling afterthought.

_I miss you_.

The old Belly felt that she had to write back. This was Conrad, her Conrad. But this was also Conrad, pull-and-push Conrad, the Conrad that had told her too many times that he'd wanted her and then that he didn't. I remembered that night, out on the beach, when he had told me that he still loved me, always had, and always would – I'd played it back in my mind, over and over again, for the past year and a half. But with Conrad, he toed the line between perfect and worst timing. Maybe he, just like with so many other things, was just the master at being able to combine the two, at the same time.

ooo

"Can you believe it?" Rachel was saying to me, as we walked to the club. Her heels clicked against the stone street and she'd dressed in a slinky black dress, just for the occasion. As for me, I had opted for some practical flats and a casual cotton dress that I had found underneath all my luggage, thrown in as a last-minute addition. "Tomorrow afternoon, we'll be going back home, bidding farewell to the Spanish sun."

"I think what you really mean is the Spanish men," I said to her, and she turned to me, sighing wistfully.

"That I do, Isabel. That I really do."

It was officially our last night in Granada as part of the studying abroad program, and all of us had decided to celebrate by heading out to the local club that came highly recommended by Javier. Inside, the club was crowded and everywhere people were dancing, drinking, or both. Rachel spotted the rest of our group, huddled in a corner with beers, and we pushed our way towards them.

"About fucking time you ladies got here," Eric said to us. "Sam got you your beers. Now time for a toast!"

Sam came back with our beers, handing them over to us. As he handed me mine he gave me a small smile. "Glad to see you came, Conklin."

Rachel waggled her eyebrows at me. "You're welcome," she said to him, thirstily chugging her beer. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I made her promise, but you're welcome."

"To our last night!" Eric said, above the pulsating music and the conversations going on around us. The people around us barely noticed, but everybody raised their beers and we toasted, clinking our bottles with as many people as we could, before taking a hearty swig.

"Now let's see some asses shaking!" Tom said, in a true frat boy manner. Tom was in the rival fraternity that Jeremiah was in, but he was nice. Earlier on in the trip, he had made a joke about my broken engagement, but then later apologized, with the corners of his ears all pink.

Rachel seemed to agree with this, and she grabbed him by his t-shirt, with a smile as big as a wildcat, dragging him out to the dance floor. "Hold my beer," she called out to me.

Most of the group dispersed, heading out to the dance floor. Soon it was only Sam and I left standing, watching the others as they disappeared into the mob of gyrating bodies.

"So," Sam said, moving closer to me, "you ready to go home yet?"

"Yes and no," I answered, as another girl from our group, Beth, pushed us aside and headed towards the exit. She was on her cell phone, trying to yell above the music. "I'll miss it here but I miss home, too."

"Same here," he said, nodding. The song ended and then changed into another body-grinder. I took another sip of my beer, wondering what time it was. I'd promised Rachel I'd come, not that I'd stay.

"Wanna dance?" he asked me, looking hopeful. I looked at him, and I had known that he'd had a little crush on me since the trip started. Even if I hadn't noticed it for myself, Rachel was more than willing in that department, always pushing me to start something with him. "Even just for the trip," she'd said. "That's what being young is for, right?" Rachel was right. And Sam was obviously good-looking – just in the past twenty minutes of being in the club alone, I had already seen numerous girls eyeing him from the distance.

I set our beers on the table, nodding. He smiled and took my hand, leading us to a spot on the floor.

As we began to move along to the music, I couldn't help but wonder what Conrad was going, thousands of miles away. If he, too, would be spending the night dancing with a girl, while spending his waking hours writing letters to me, the girl who claimed that would love him forever, and then disappeared.

ooo

I left before Rachel did. I made my way over to her as she was giggling and talking to Tom, tapping her on the shoulder and letting her know that I was going home. Her eyes jumped to something behind me. "Is Sam going to go with you?" she asked, and I shook my head. Then she nodded and said okay.

As I exited the club, relishing the escape from the stuffy, hot room, I was surprised to see Javier standing outside with his friends, smoking and drinking.

"Isabel!" he called out to me. "I thought that was you! Why are you going home so early?"

"I'm pretty tired, Javier," I answered in Spanish, not wanting to be rude to his friends, who were watching us. I said hello to them, too, and they nodded, smiling.

"Then let me walk you home, at least," he said.

"No, no, really, you should stay with your friends," I insisted, but he was already putting out his cigarette and setting his beer bottle on the ground.

He shook his head, "No, it'll only take a minute." He turned to his friends and told them he'd be back, and they nodded, continuing their conversation as Javier walked over to me. Their house was only a few blocks away, and I had some pepper spray in my purse. He still walked with me, asking me how I liked the club and if I was happy to be going home.

"I try to be a gentleman to all the study abroad students staying with us," he said to me, as we neared the house. "But I like you, Isabel. I think it is because you remind me of my little sister." He paused in thought for a second, before continuing on. A boy on a moped sped by. "Promise me something. Promise me that someday, some day before you die, or get married, you will talk to that boy. That way, no matter what happens, you will have no regrets, and you will live a happy life."

We were in front of the door. I turned to him and looked him in the eye. He was right. He was looking at me in exactly the same way a brother would look at his sister – with love.

"Of course," I said to him. "Anything for you, Chef Javier."

ooo

For my homecoming, Anika and Taylor took me out to our favorite Chinese restaurant: The Golden Cricket. It was a little hole in the wall we'd discovered one day and often came to when our funds were running low and we had a massive craving for orange chicken and platefuls of fried rice.

"All right, since Belly's told us all about her Spanish adventure—"

"And her super hot host brother," Taylor interrupted. She had gone through my camera earlier and gawked at Javier, whom she claimed looked just like Johnny Depp, but less wimpy.

"—it's time for our traditional fortune cookie fortune read aloud," Anika finished. "I'll go first." She cracked her fortune cookie in half, holding up the paper fortune to her face. "'You will be coming upon a great treasure,'" she read aloud, amused. "Right. Like that's the first time I've heard this kind of bull from you, fortune cookie."

Taylor was next. She sipped her diet coke as she broke her cookie in half. "'You are an intelligent being with a bright future.'" Anika guffawed and Taylor frowned. She turned to her. "I would rather get the phony treasure. Wanna trade?"

Anika ignored her and looked at me. "Your turn."

"Okay." I placed half of the cookie in my mouth, unscrolling the strip of paper. "'_Your soul mate awaits you_.'"

Anika's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. "Interesting."

"Who writes this stuff, anyway?" Taylor said, checking her lip gloss in her compact. "Even I could write better fortunes than this. They're always so lame."

As Anika rolled her eyes and challenged Taylor's proclamation of superior fortune cookie fortune-writing skills, I stared at my fortune. _Your soul mate awaits you_. At the bottom, as always, were my lucky numbers.

While they passively bickered, I folded it in half and slipped the fortune into my pocket, and then asked for the check.

ooo

Anika and I headed back to our apartment, and Taylor went back to hers. As Anika drove, she put on some new album she bought while I was away. It was sad and exactly the kind of music I could see someone listening to as they lay in a bath tub, the bath water murky and bubbles all gone, staring sadly into nothing.

"Do you believe in soul mates?" I asked her.

She kept her eyes on the road as we slowed down for a yellow light. "I believe it's a nice idea," she answered. "Just like true love and heaven and Santa Clause."

"So then that's a no."

"I'm still trying to figure it out for myself," she said, looking at me. The light changed to green and it was faintly reflected on her face. "So it's a maybe."

ooo

It had been one of those rare moments when Conrad and I were alone in the beach house. Steven and Jeremiah had gone out to the boardwalk and my mom and Susannah had also gone out for the day, claiming that they were just going to go out to look for new curtains. Conrad had said that he didn't want to go and then just went into his room and locked the door, probably to learn a new song on his guitar. I had been invited to the boardwalk, too, but I'd said no – partially because I liked swimming when no one was around, and partially because Conrad wasn't going.

I had just finished swimming and was on the couch, eating cereal from a bowl and watching an old movie. My hair was still wet and my shoulders were soaked, along with parts of the couch.

I hadn't noticed that Conrad had come out of his room until he sat himself down on the couch with me. Instantly my body tensed, sensing his nearness, but I tried to play it off as I barely glimpsed at him, instead trying to seem really engrossed in the movie. Which I was. Until he came along, anyway.

"I've seen this movie," he said. "I watched it in English. It's good."

"Is it?" I said, eating more cereal. "Guess I'll just have to see for myself."

And then we just sat there for five minutes. Being with Conrad did magical things to time – he had a way of twisting them into stretching even longer or making them pass by in a blink of an eye. This time, with us sitting there, in complete silence, it felt like forever. In a good way. Like it was the kind of forever that was soft and comforting, the kind that you wouldn't mind sitting in for a really long time. Not like the kind of forever you stood in while waiting in line at the grocery store, bored and impatient.

In the movie, the man said something about soul mates before it cut to commercial. A dog food commercial came on, and I shifted in my seat.

"Do you believe in soul mates?" I asked him.

He thought for a second. "I don't know. Maybe. Do you?"

"I think," I said, brushing aside the wet hair from my face, "that I do. But I don't think all soul mates have to be, you know, romantically involved. Like our moms. I don't think my dad was my mom's soul mate and I don't really think Mr. Fisher was Susannah's. I think they were each other's."

He sat in thought for such a long time that he hadn't talked by the time the movie came back on, starting back where it left off. I awkwardly squirmed in my seat. Maybe I had brought up the wrong conversational topic. After all, my knowledge on soul mates was as run-of-the-mill and elementary as you could get. But at that point, I had known for a very long time that Conrad was mine. My soul mate. I was young, but if my theory about my mom and Susannah was correct – they'd met when they were nine – then it really wasn't as crazy as it seemed.

"I like that theory," Conrad finally said, as if he had thought about it and couldn't find any logical flaws. "But how do you know? That somebody's your soul mate, I mean."

The way he looked at me, curious but at the same time intense, with a crinkle right in between his eyebrows, made me hold my breath. I don't know what it was about Conrad that one look made nothing else exist. Did everybody feel this way when it came to the person they loved?

"I don't know. I guess you just do," I said.

A wry smile crept across his face, breaking our moment. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone – vanished without a single trace, except for that lingering shiver in my spine.

"Well, that's not really much to go on, is it?"

I shrugged. "I'll let you know when it happens to me, then, okay?"

"Yeah," he said, turning back to the movie. "You should do that. Tell me when you think you've found your soul mate, Belly, and I'll do the same."

"Fine. Deal."

"Good." And then he glanced at me, briefly. "And don't forget, either."

I bit the inside of my lip, trying to get back into the movie, even though I had long forgotten what it was about. I knew that I could be eighty years old and never could have forgotten. I had a special compartment in my brain for all things Conrad, whether I liked it or not, and it wasn't the kind you could easily forget about. But I didn't tell him that. Instead I just leaned back and said, as casually as I could, "I'll try."

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Next part coming soon!<p> 


	2. Part 2

**Never Let Me Go**

**A/N: **For those of you who might want to know what song Belly and Conrad slow dance to in the car scene, it's "Nothing Like You and I" by The Perishers.

- **Part Two** -

That summer I spent it with Anika, who had invited me up to her family's own beach house. Anika's family's beach house was different from the house in Cousins: it was far from cozy, and there were no worn in La-Z-Boys in sight. Instead it looked like a beach house you would see in those TV shows about rich families with pool boys and winter cabins in the Alps, full of large windows and chic, nautical furniture that looked like they had never even been touched, let alone used.

"Oh my God," I said, gaping at their incredible view of the ocean. "Anika, you never told me you were rich!"

Anika had definitely never given me that kind of vibe. She wore old punk rock t-shirts and her favorite guilty pleasures were twinkies doused with chocolate syrup. Never had I ever seen a designer handbag in her closet, or even sun glasses that cost more than a dinner out.

She rolled her eyes, dropping her keys on the counter. "My parents are rich, not me. My mom got this from the divorce, but she's busy networking in the Hamptons, so I figured we'd get some use out of it. Plus, the pantry's all packed."

"Still." I examined the decorative glass sea shells on the table. "This is amazing."

"It's definitely upper-class," she sighed. "But let's put our stuff away and cook up some grub. I am beyond starving."

For lunch we grilled some chicken and sautéed some vegetables, helping ourselves to the supply of powdered Kool-Aid in the pantry. Anika even put on an old hip hop CD she'd found up in her room, and we danced around, trying our best to mimic the moves from the music videos.

Afterwards we headed out to the beach, which was practically her backyard. From her back door, the ocean was a mere six minute walk, and it was their own private beach, isolated from tourists and other beach bums. We laid out on the beach chairs and slipped on our sunglasses, grateful for the sun, having also brought some more Kool-Aid in a cooler with us.

Even the beach felt different from Cousins. The sand seemed whiter, softer underneath our feet. The ocean seemed bluer, as if money and social status made everything more vivid than usual.

"You know I'm no snooper," she said to me. "But I noticed you've been getting letters."

I stared out into the ocean, calmly lapping onto the sand. Even though I had known I couldn't hide it from Anika for long, I had tried my best to be the first one to the mail. With work and school, it didn't always work out that way. But it wasn't Anika I was worried about, for the most part. It was Taylor.

"I got my first one from him while I was in Spain," I said to her, rubbing on some sunscreen. "He said he got my address from my mom."

She nodded. "So. Are you going to write him back?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, I'm not."

"And you haven't written to him yet, correct?"

"Correct."

"And yet he still keeps writing?"

I gave her a look, and she nodded again, sipping her grape Kool-Aid.

"Wow, that's devotion."

"Well, we'll see about that," I said, leaning back on my chair and closing my eyes. I didn't know how long Conrad would keep writing, but it seemed unlike him to keep it up for too long, so I didn't get my hopes up. I knew Conrad. That was what I told myself. I knew him too well to expect too much from him at all. Even Jeremiah did, and he was his brother. _He will let you down, Belly. That's what he does. That's who he is._

ooo

It had been winter, but not dead-winter yet, when everything was frozen and barren and gray. There were still a handful of leaves left up in the trees, and it wasn't cold enough to start wearing scarves and gloves just yet. We were yet to have our first snow of the winter. But it was the transition coldness between fall and winter – it was starting to have that bite to it, that kind that numbs your face and your ears, and made your nose feel like an icicle whenever you touched it.

We must have looked crazy, standing there together, with him holding onto me, in front of his car with the headlights still on. Conrad was in his parka and I was still wrapped up in the blanket that he'd gotten from the trunk of his car. He had turned his car radio up to maximum volume, the song loudly filling up the park. The driver's side door was still open so that it could do exactly that.

It had been Conrad's idea. We had just been sitting in his car, talking and drinking hot cocoa, when a song came on. I recognized this song. I had bought the album right after I'd heard it flipping through some channels on TV.

"I love this song," I confessed, holding the cup up to my face for warmth.

That was when he got quiet, and set down his thermos. He looked at me, holding out his hand. "I have an idea," he said.

"What? What is it?" I said, putting down my own thermos, but I was already giddy with excitement. I was curious enough that I didn't mind when he told me to get out of my seat and to wait in front of the car, while he turned the radio up all the way before meeting me there. When he did, he was smiling a little, and when he breathed his breath came out like a white mist. My heart skipped a beat.

"Remember when I taught you to dance?" he asked me, and he took my hand. His hand was cold, just like mine, but I didn't mind.

"You taught me how to shag," I reminded him. "Not slow dance."

"Then this can be part two," he said, and we began to dance. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I already knew how to slow dance, thanks to Taylor and her endless stack of chick flick DVDs, so I let him lead. At first we were laughing so much and stumbling that it was hard to take the song seriously, but slowly we fell into step, and he held me close, with one of his arms around me and his other hand holding onto mine. We fit perfectly, and it made me shiver even though my insides felt warmer than they ever had before.

I could feel his breath against my face. Every time he breathed, I felt my skin there tingle.

"See? It's easy," he murmured against my hair. "You're a natural, Belly."

I had no way of knowing for sure, but I just knew that his eyes were closed. So I closed mine, too.

"I wish nothing ever changed," I heard him say, so quietly that I could have missed it. "I wish that we could just be here, like this, forever."

I didn't know it then, when he said that. I didn't know it that he'd only said this because he could already feel the change coming – the way you could smell fall coming, when the air gets brisk and cold in the mornings, and that warm, familiar smell of the sun just slowly disappears. That, when he'd said this, he hadn't been talking to _me_ – but to something much, much bigger than the either of us.

No, the only thing I knew was that this was Conrad, my Conrad, who had finally asked me to slow dance with him. It was so rare that he ever let anybody get this close, especially these last few months, that I dug my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder in want and in mere possession. I wanted to hold on and never let go.

"I have an idea," I said. "Open your eyes and try to memorize this moment, as hard as you can. That way, in your memories, we can. Stay this way forever, I mean. Even if nothing else does."

And he did it. He looked straight at me, but instead of concentrating hard like I thought he would, he just looked at me, with his eyes all soft and glazed and intense. I knew this look. I had burned it into the insides of my eyelids and into the very expanse of my memory. It was this look that made me believe that anything could happen. Even with Conrad. Especially with Conrad.

For one very long minute – that I relished, even though it made my knees feel like jelly – he just looked at me, as we slowly swayed along to the song. He looked at me the way a blind man that had just regained his sight looked at the sky. Like he was drinking me in, and memorizing every possible detail.

"Listen to the music." I tightened my hold between his fingers. "Focus on what you're feeling. Remember this moment, Conrad, and you and me, we're going to stay this way. For as long as you want. For forever."

Later on I would realize the bittersweetness of this moment, just like I would realize the bittersweetness of many others. Even then, at that moment, I had a feeling, deep down — like it was a foreshadowing of what was ahead. But that's the thing about looking back to moments that should have told you what was coming — maybe you'd had that feeling, but it was so tiny and inconsequential compared to everything else also happening in that moment, that it was easy to overlook. Impossible not to miss unless you were rummaging through your past, desperately looking for signs you hadn't seen that might have hinted at the end.

But that would be later. At that moment, my heart was so full it ached. Because as much as Conrad wished things – _we_ – would stay this way forever, I wished for it even harder.

My mother used to tell me that wishing for things never got you anything. That somewhere in the universe was a gigantic, grotesque piggy bank where all wishes go to die. She was right. You couldn't hold onto a wish like a life raft when things got rough. You couldn't wave it in the air like a white flag when somebody started to change. In the end, you really couldn't do very much with wishes at all.

Sooner or later, you realize just how silly it was, hoping they would stay the same.

Because that's what people do. They change. It was stupid to wish otherwise.

I would see that later. Later on, I would see that, as clear as day.

ooo

We celebrated my birthday a few days early at the beach house. Taylor came the day before, ditching her summer trip early with her newest boyfriend, Brent, a water polo player for the university. We would be making the trip back down just in time for me to spend my real birthday with my mom and dad and Steven, just like she'd requested.

Most of the day we spent on the beach, or hitting up the nearest town and perusing through the whimsical little beachfront boutiques. We got ice cream from the old timey ice cream parlor and visited the pet store, picking a corgi puppy to walk around the town for half an hour.

That night we went all out. Anika took us out to dinner at the best restaurant in town – a very high class Japanese restaurant, which Taylor adored – before we found ourselves at the local karaoke hot spot for drinks and public humiliation. All three of us had to go up and sing. Taylor did her sparkling rendition of "Dancing Queen," Anika hit it off with some old Destiny's Child, and I chose "Take a Bow" by Madonna.

We ended the night watching old chick flicks on Anika's large projector, eating brownies and junk food. They had made me a birthday cake in shape of a large cupcake, which I took lots of pictures with, before undoubtedly consuming. It was carrot cake, my favorite.

That time I don't know what I wished for as I blew out my candle. I didn't wish for Conrad, but in a way, maybe I did. I just wished for everyone I loved to be happy.

Afterwards we cuddled, with our blankets and pillows laid out, as we watched Ten Things I Hate About You and mooned over a young Heath Ledger.

"This," I said, popping a sour patch kid in my mouth, "was the best fake birthday ever. And the fattest, by far."

"Too bad you couldn't get an actual drink at the bar yet," Taylor said.

"I'm glad you guys are here," Anika said. We had all dressed into our pajamas, and Taylor was French braiding my hair. "It would have been really lame if I had to come here alone."

"Call me, any time," Taylor said to her. "I will drop anything and everything just to be here, in your beach mansion. Seriously."

Despite herself, Anika smiled. Anika and Taylor were polar opposites, but they got along, for the most part. They understood each other, even when they didn't.

Eventually, we all drifted off to sleep in the living room, surrounded by half-eaten bags of chips and candy. Taylor fell asleep leaning towards me and Anika had fallen asleep on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow. As Taylor yawned, turning to the other side, she muttered to me, "Happy birthday, Belly," before going back to snoring.

I groped around for the remote, turning off the projector. The milky moonlight spilled in from the large windows. It was different from Cousins, all right, but at least the moon was the same. I at least knew as much as that. And then I closed my eyes.

ooo

"Happy birthday, Belly Button," Steven said, picking me up for a bear hug. He shook me around like a ragdoll before setting me back down.

"No matter how old I get, I'm never gonna lose the nickname, am I?" I asked him, pretending to be annoyed, as I smoothed out my dress.

He grinned mischievously, shaking his head. "Not a chance, little sis."

We were having dinner at the same Italian restaurant we'd been having my birthday dinners – and just about any other family occasion – since we had temporarily stopped going to Cousins for the summer. And by "we", I really only meant me. Steven stopped by occasionally, and so did my mom, which she claimed to do just to check up on both the house and the boys. Of course, she never told me if she ever saw Jeremiah or Conrad there. For the most part, it seemed like they had worked out a schedule. Either Conrad was there, or Jeremiah, but never both.

But I knew my mom, just like any of us, couldn't stay away from Cousins for long. In a lot of ways, it was our only piece left of Susannah, and my mother could never give that up.

I filled my dad in on my experience studying abroad, while I told Steven and my mom about summer with Anika and Taylor. Steven, on the other hand, told us all about his new job and how his bosses were warming up to him. His boss, Adam Greenfeld, was taking him to play golf next week, and he was plenty proud of this as he stuffed his face with linguini.

Courtesy of the restaurant, I blew out the candles to my second (real) birthday cake. And then it was time for presents. My dad, as usual, got me another book. My mom got me a very comfortable pajama set, as well as a new toaster to replace the broken one we had at the apartment. Steven got me a CD and a sweater that his new girlfriend had helped him pick out, which he was also proud of.

When it was time to head home, I gave every one of them a hug goodbye. Even Steven, whose breath smelled like garlic, and who made sure to breathe in my face precisely for this reason. "You're twenty-one now, Belly. Try to stay out of trouble, okay?"

My mom held me close as she hugged me. "Happy birthday, my sweet Belly. I love you, and drive home safe."

"I love you, too, Mom," I said to her, breathing in her scent. That was what I loved about my mom. She didn't wear perfume, but she had a really specific smell, one that I could only really describe as a Mom Smell. She smelled like soap and softness with a faint splash of cinnamon, combined.

I watched them all drive away before I got into my car.

ooo

Anika wasn't home when I got there, but there was a package waiting for me on the table. My eyes immediately moved towards the return address. I took it and headed straight to my room.

It was a small box, wrapped in brown package paper. On the front was my name, written in exactly the way I had become used to, from his letters. I sat there on my bed, for a moment, staring at it as if it was Pandora's Box. After a minute or two, I picked it up and began to carefully open the corners, slipping the box out of the brown paper.

There was a note taped to the front of the box.

_Happy Birthday, Belly_.

I opened the box. It was a delicate gold necklace with a tiny shell pendant. I gasped, staring at it. I was both afraid to touch it and also dying to. This wasn't the first necklace he had given me, after all.

After a few moments of examining it, I set it on my bedside table. I stood up, rummaging through my desk for paper. And then I sat down, grabbed a pen, and began to write back.

ooo

When I was younger, I was obsessed with collecting shells. I had been obsessed with a lot of things, but these were the come-and-go obsessions, fleeting, even before I had ever discovered my love for Conrad. Those were the days I was a vessel of my own free will, still free and innocent from longing after the most unattainable boy. But even this was before he was unattainable. He was just normal old Conrad. Conrad, who collected stamps and read encyclopedias like they were Dr. Seuss books.

Out on the beach one day, I came across the most beautiful shell. It was white with a bluish, peachy underbelly, and it was whole, too – unlike other shells, which were usually missing chips here or there. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand; not too big, not too small, but perfect in every way a shell could possibly be.

I should have known better, but I ran inside anyway to show the boys.

"Look! Isn't it the most amazing thing you've ever seen?" I said, showing them.

Steven scoffed. "It's a shell. Looks like any other shell. Move out of the way, Belly, you're blocking the TV."

They were watching Dumb and Dumber for the fiftieth time. Even Jeremiah craned his head to look past me at the TV. Conrad, on the other hand, was on the kitchen table, organizing his stamps, completely oblivious. Or so I thought.

"You just don't know a perfect shell when you see one!" I huffed, my face red from their rejection. I stomped my foot and began walking back outside. I collapsed on one of the wooden lawn chairs with the shell cupped in between my hands.

It must have been a minute or two when I noticed a shadow over me. I looked up, squinting, and it was Conrad. He was nine at the time. I was just seven.

"Are you gonna say it's just a dumb shell, too?" I snapped at him.

He said nothing. Instead he held out his hand and said, "Let me see."

Hesitantly, I placed the shell in the middle of his palm. And then he examined it. He looked closely at its pale little ridges, symmetrical and even, and then turned it over to see the color underneath.

"This is a Florida prickly cockle," he said, after a few moments.

I blinked at him. "A what?"

He handed me back my shell. "Your amazing shell. It's a Florida prickly cockle. That's what kind it is."

I felt my face flush a little, and I bit the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. "Thanks, Conrad."

He mussed my hair with his hand, grinning down on me, and I pretended to be annoyed. I wasn't, though. In fact, at that moment, I was grateful for Conrad. He was different.

"No problem, Bells," he said, before turning around and walking back to the house.

I sat there for a few more minutes, before putting the shell back in my pocket. Later on that night, I would keep it underneath my pillow while I slept, and took it everywhere with me, like a good luck charm. It didn't matter that Steven and Jeremiah couldn't care less about my shell – or, as Conrad called it, my Florida prickly cockle – because Conrad did. And, for some reason, that was all that mattered.

ooo

My letter was short.

_Thanks for the gift. I'm glad to hear you're doing well in med school and that you're enjoying your internship. Granada was both strange and amazing in the best way possible. A street gypsy once handed me a flower, and when I refused to pay, she put a curse on me. That day I only narrowly escaped getting run over by civilians on vespas three separate times. My host brother told me I was lucky to get out alive._

_Belly_

I hesitated sending it, of course. But the more I looked at the gift he had sent me – not just a necklace, but a link back to our days in Cousins – the more I was convinced I had to send it, if not just for the pure sentiment of a Thank You. It was only the polite thing to do. After all, every year for my birthday, my mom always had me handwrite Thank You notes to everyone that had given me a gift. How was this any different?

But it was. It was Conrad. Starting up with him was like catapulting myself down a cliff: once I started, there was no stopping, until I finally hit the bottom.

I told myself that I was older now. I knew so much more than I had back then. I was not sixteen-year-old Belly anymore, foolishly throwing herself at him whenever she saw the opportunity. No, I was an adult now. I was twenty-one. I was wise and mature Isabel Conklin who had learned from her mistakes.

So I sent it anyway.

ooo

_Somebody named Sam called for you_, Anika's text said. _He left his number_.

Two seconds later, my phone lit up again. It was another one from Anika: _FYI, he sounds hot_.

Laughing to myself, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and loaded my groceries into my car. I was late. I was supposed to meet Taylor twenty minutes ago at the apartment, but we'd had an unexpected rush at work and I had to stay a little after my shift. Luckily Taylor had caught Anika while she was there and she let her in. My guess was that Taylor was sitting on the couch, flipping through the hundreds of channels via satellite TV, courtesy of Anika's rich dad.

When I stumbled into the apartment, I was right. Taylor was on the couch, having opened a bag of fat free potato chips, watching the Shopping Network. As soon as I came in, she looked at me and grabbed the remote. She turned off the TV.

"Sorry," I said, as I dropped the bags on the counter. "You hate it when I'm late, I know. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Froyo's on me tonight."

"Belly," she said. Something in her voice – way too serious for Taylor, even if I had come in late – made me look up at her, confused.

She was standing up, holding something in her hand. A letter. I didn't have to look at the return address to know which letter it was.

"Tell me you're not writing back to this jackass," she said to me.

"I'm not," I said to her, feeling my stomach suddenly clench up. I hated lying to Taylor. I was also really bad at it, and Taylor had known me long enough to know when I was lying. I didn't know why I even bothered. The way her face got even tauter and her mouth practically disappeared into a Raspberry Rain-tinted straight line told me that I was still as transparent as a wet t-shirt.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" she demanded. "Why do you always let him back in? He's proved time and time again that he doesn't deserve it. You _know_ that, Belly!"

My hands clenched by my side, and I felt my face get hot. "It's nothing, Tay. Seriously."

"Nothing my ass," she hissed. "It's never nothing with Conrad Fisher." She slapped the letter back on the table, grabbing her keys and walking over to me. "Do what you want, Belly, but you and I both know how this is going to end. I'm a good friend, but even I can't stand by and watch the one person I love more than anything in the entire world cry over the same guy for the fiftieth time."

She walked past me, to the door, and slammed it shut behind her. Even when she was gone, I could still smell her Strawberries and Cream body lotion wafting around in my apartment, the one we had bought together during a blow-out sale at our favorite perfume and lotion store.

I sat down at the kitchen table, sighing to myself. When I looked up, I could see my reflection in the mirror, with the tiny shell pendant around my neck, faintly winking in the light.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Next part coming soon!<p> 


	3. Part 3

**Never Let Me Go**

-** Part Three **-

This time Taylor answered after the third ring. It was a relief not having to hear her peppy voice signaling that she had let my call go to voicemail, once again, telling me to "Leave a message after the beat for Tay! Love ya!"

I knew she picked up even though she didn't say a word.

"Can I come over?" I asked her.

Her voice was small and hoarse. "Okay."

I grabbed my keys and headed out.

ooo

When I got there, I knew Taylor's blow-up with my at my apartment did not just have to do with Conrad's letters. The trashcan was filled to the brim with tissues, and she had stocked up on rocky road ice cream and marshmallow puffs. Not to mention I could see that she had paused Bridget Jones' Diary on her TV. Her fingers were stained red from a steady consumption of Hot Cheetos.

I had barely closed the door behind me before she came forward, ambushing me with a hug. "I'm so sorry, Belly. I didn't mean to blow up at you like that. I mean, I _did_, but not like that. It's just that I'd just gotten into a fight with Brent and then I came to your apartment and saw his letter, _and_ you were late. . . I'm sorry, I just totally needed someone to blow up at, and you were the closest."

She was sniffling as she pulled back. It was rare I ever got to see Taylor without make-up, but being her longest and oldest friend, I was probably the only person on earth that had the occasional privilege. Her nose was red and her eyes were pink and puffy, with strands of her blond hair matted to her face, which was sticky from tears. Even with all that, Taylor Jewel was still obviously pretty. Whereas I always looked like a wreck when I cried, Taylor still managed to look cute.

"It's okay," I told her.

She nodded, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. I noticed it was soggy.

"I'm going to get you more Kleenex," I said to her, "and then we can talk, okay?"

"Okay. And do you want chocolate syrup on your rocky road ice cream or do you just want it plain?" She had already opened up the freezer, with another bowl and a spoon in her hand, looking at me.

I couldn't help it. I smiled at her a little. "Load it up, Tay."

ooo

We were onto the sequel, not that we were paying much attention. Taylor had told me all about her fight with Brent, and how he hadn't even called her to apologize yet.

"I think I might have really done it this time, Belly," she sniffled into her bowl of ice cream. "I think I might have pushed him too far."

"Don't call cards that haven't been dealt yet," I said. "He'll call. He just needs some time."

We both fell silent, watching the movie. We were at the part where Bridget and Mark had just had their first big fight, and he came to her apartment to tell her that he loved her.

"How long has Conrad been writing to you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

I sighed, leaning back. "Since my study abroad program in Spain."

Another pause of silence. This time, her voice sounded hurt. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I didn't tell anyone. I mean, what do you say? This is Conrad. After an entire year of nothing, he's suddenly writing me letters every month. On my birthday he sent me a necklace. I only wrote him back to say thanks, and then suddenly I'm responding to each of his letters." I held my bowl tightly on my lap, looking down. Something sour bubbled up my throat, something familiar – shame.

I hadn't planned on writing back again after my Thank You note for his gift. But, as always, with Conrad, things rarely go as I ever planned. Even after all this time, he still had this hold on me – even though he was miles and miles away, in California. Maybe Jeremiah was right. Maybe some feelings never really did let go.

"I don't want to tell you what to do," Taylor said. "I'm your friend, not your mother. But just know what you're doing, what you're risking. Remember that whatever Conrad Fisher giveth, Conrad Fisher will also probably taketh away."

I sat there in silence for a minute. I played over what she said in my mind. _Remember that whatever Conrad Fisher giveth, Conrad Fisher will also probably taketh away_, I repeated. But didn't I know that? Hadn't my entire time with Conrad solidified that sole statement? I knew better than to deny that our relationship – or whatever it was we had – was built entirely on Conrad giving and then taking away. With me staring after him, broken, left in the dust. Always.

"Honestly, it's not even serious," I said.

"Belly, he gave you a necklace."

"That's just Conrad."

"And you're just you." She sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is, write to him if you want. But keep some distance. And by that I mean – go out on a date. Kiss a boy. Or three. Write to him, but have a life without him. Which" – she said, holding up a hand as I opened my mouth to defend myself – "I know you do, but I mean a love life that doesn't have anything to do with a Fisher. Got it?"

Good old Taylor. She was always good at putting me back on the rails. "Got it."

It was right at that second that Taylor's phone began to ring. It was an old Mandy Moore song, which I knew belonged to Brent. Taylor was big on customized ringtones. She had programmed my calls to ring as an even older Wilson Philips song, "Hold on." She even had Anika's number set to a Le Tigre song.

She sucked in a breath, looking at me with wide eyes. "Oh shit. It's him. What do I do?"

We were both watching her phone, vibrating and ringing and lighting up on the table.

"What else?" I said. "Answer it."

ooo

With Taylor's relationship with water polo god Brent back on the mend, I went home. My secret was out, for the most part. My two closest friends, Anika and Taylor, both knew about Conrad's letters, and were both telling me to proceed with caution. So I would. I would also follow Taylor's sound advice: keep a distance. Build a barrier. My mom always used to tell me something when I was little, whenever I was about to make some big decision. She would say to me, "Don't jump without a parachute."

Anika had written down Sam's number by the phone. I remembered that I had given Sam my landline number at the apartment, because at the time my cell phone had been on the fritz, after I had accidentally dropped it in the fountain. I hesitated, but I gave it to him anyway during our homecoming celebration at the club, because he seemed nice and we had a lot in common. He was outgoing and kind. He reminded me a lot of Jeremiah, and was nothing like Conrad.

I dialed his number on my cell phone. I anxiously toyed with the sticky between my fingers as it rang. After the fourth rang, he answered. After the usual greetings, he asked me out. I said Yes.

ooo

For Taylor's eleventh birthday party, she had a slumber party. It was supposed to be me and another girl, some girl from Taylor's tap class, but she canceled at the last minute. Taylor didn't seem too broken up about it, which relieved me just a little. "My mom forced me to ask her," she said, as we set up our sleeping bags in front of her TV. "We went out once on a play date, but she's into comic books and stuff. She hasn't even ever tried lip gloss!" she said, shaking her head.

Taylor and I would have movie marathons. We would go to the video store with her mom, and her mom would tell us to get any movie we wanted. We usually ended up getting three or four, all romantic comedies, but sometimes a drama if we felt like it or the synopsis sounded interesting.

We put on the movie, and it was interesting in the beginning, but then it fell flat towards the middle. We started talking through it, making ourselves sundaes in her kitchen and showering our frozen creations with gummy bears and nuts, topping it off with whipped cream. After that, we turned off the lights and just sat down where we had set up for the night, our faces and ice cream bowls only lit up by the light of the TV.

Her mom would check in on us from time to time, but after eleven, she took her pills and Taylor said that she couldn't be woken up after that, not even if a parade came through her house.

If we finished our movies and we weren't ready to fall asleep yet, sometimes we laid in our sleeping bags and just talked. I would always be on the right side, and I remember always watching Taylor's little ballerina night light just a few feet away from us. She had red hair and a purple leotard, kind of like Mrs. Jewel.

"Belly, do you ever think about who you'll marry?"

Instantly, a face came to mind, but I didn't tell her that. "Sometimes. Not really. Why?"

"I do. I think about what I want him to have, like a nice car, and a big house. I want him to have nice hair, too, not all slicked back and hard. I don't want him to smoke – only on special occasions, like when he has to smoke cigars with his bosses to celebrate his new promotion."

I was silent, thinking of everything Taylor had said. The more she described her ideal husband, the more I kept seeing Mr. Fisher pop up in my head. He seemed to fit the description.

"But I want him to adore me, of course," she sighed. "I want him to take me places, like the Eiffel tower or some mountain in Switzerland, where he'll hold my hand and put his arm around me to let everybody know I'm his." Then she shifted beside me, looking at me with her hands folded underneath her chin. "What about you?"

Mr. Fisher disappeared from my mind. Instead, Conrad reappeared. Conrad, on the beach, or out on the patio, strumming his guitar. Conrad, bent over his stamps, or hiding behind his encyclopedia, reading on the couch.

"Well, I want him to be smart, and kind. I want him to have a good job, but I don't care if he's rich or not. I want him to be funny and protective." I thought for a minute. "And I want him to love me, like you said. I want him to love me like he doesn't love anyone, except maybe his mom."

Taylor giggled. "Belly! Seriously. His mom?"

"Don't you want your husband to love his mom?"

"Of course I do," she said. "But not more than me. If he did, that would be a problem. That would be called Mommy Issues, Belly."

I thought about how much Conrad loved Susannah, and how much it showed. That was the one thing I loved about the Fisher boys – they adored their mother almost as much as she adored them. Steven and I could never have been as affectionate to our mom like they were, simply because our mom was just not that kind of person. She showed her love in different ways than Susannah did, which didn't mean it meant any less.

"Let's have lots of boyfriends before we get married," she said, and I swear that I could almost see her eyes glinting in the darkness. She held out her hand to me. "So we're sure. And if we're sure, we have to promise to call each other right away. Pinky promise."

At the time, I could only see Taylor as the one having lots of boyfriends, not me. But I pinky-promised her anyway. Satisfied with this, Taylor lay back down.

"We forgot one other thing," she said, but her head was turned up to the ceiling. "We have to find a guy that will love us more than we love each other. If that's even possible."

We couldn't help it. We both giggled.

ooo

"So, this is looking serious, huh?" Steven said, bumping my arm with his, as soon as Sam had left to use the bathroom. "Your new dude coming to family dinner. You know what they say, if it smells serious. . ."

I continued cutting through my pot roast. I could feel my mom also listening attentively. She was sipping her wine, pretending to mind her own business, but I could almost see her ears perk up, like a dog that had just heard the crinkle of a bag of dog treats across the room.

"He said he wanted to meet you guys, so I brought him along," I said, shrugging. We had already been dating for a few months, so I thought it wouldn't be such a big deal.

"That sounds like such bull, Belly. You don't just bring someone to family dinner because they want to meet your family. You bring someone to family dinner because _you_ want them to meet your family. And usually that means it's serious."

All throughout this, my mom said nothing. She asked for the salt and pepper to sprinkle her pot roast with, and also went back to the kitchen to add some more potatoes to the platter. All the while, Steven was grinning at me like a kid that had been told not to play in the mud, but did anyway, without shame.

"And what about you? Where's Sasha?"

Steven had been going out with Sasha for nearly six months now, which had to be some kind of record. Steven Conklin was not the kind of guy that stuck with a girl, and we all knew that by now. He always found some reason to break up with them, but I knew there was only one real reason: he was bored. He was bored, and he didn't love her, so he broke it off.

I had thought it would be the same with Sasha. At first, she seemed just like all of Steven's past girlfriends: she was pretty, had a college degree, was at least 5'7'', and was into Quentin Tarantino films like he was. I had only met her a few times, of course, but I guess I started noticing something different around the third time. It was the way Steven looked at her, the way his face seemed to soften like melting butter on bread, and he was always touching her some way – his hand cupping her shoulder, on the small of her back, or holding her hand. I had only seen Steven act this way with only a handful of girls, so I knew it could only mean one thing: it was serious. He was in love.

"I told you, she's in Washington," he said, biting into a dinner roll. "For work."

"Do you miss her?" I asked.

"Of course I do. She's awesome." Then he stopped, looking at me. He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Nothing," I said.

He opened his mouth to push the subject some more, but by that time, Sam had returned. He sat himself down, smiling, and I smiled back. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as my mom poured herself another glass of wine.

ooo

Sam and I continued to date. I met his friends and his parents, and it all seemed to fit together in such an enviable way that I even caught Anika giving us surprised yet appreciative looks whenever he was over at the apartment. Both Taylor and Anika approved, naturally. He won over Anika by participating in a discussion over their mutual love of NPR (which he had also done with my mom), and he won over Taylor by simply putting the seat back down when he was finished with the toilet. Taylor said that this meant that he was a gentleman, and I couldn't disagree.

In the meantime, Taylor and Anika also kept quiet about the fact that I continued to write to Conrad. Even though I felt guilty about it, making sure to hide Conrad's letters away underneath my mattress when Sam was over, it became a full-time job trying to convince myself that I was doing nothing wrong. My letters to Conrad, and his letters to me, were completely innocent. We talked about our routines and our days and occasionally reminisced about Cousins. But even then, even in the remembering, we never crossed over into dangerous ground by talking about us. We never talked about Belly and Conrad, couple. Only about Belly and Conrad, friends since childhood.

I never mentioned Sam in my letters. I didn't know whether I should. Conrad had never brought up anyone that he was seeing, so I didn't know whether that was something we were permitted to talk about. So I never did. Somehow, this added on even more to the guilt department.

"So. How is he?"

Anika, Taylor and I were having breakfast out. We were at Waffle Land for the special: all you can eat waffles for just $6.99. A college student's dream after seeing your bank account quickly deplete from bills and other expenses for class, as well as a good relief after a whole week of cramming for finals.

I didn't look up at her, setting the maple syrup back in the rotating bin. "How is who?"

"You know who," Anika said, and that's when I looked up. Both she and Taylor had wildly curious looks in their eyes and could barely contain their smirks. "Sam. In bed."

Immediately I felt my face flush, and my fork clattered against my plate. "Guys. Seriously?"

"_Yes_, seriously," Taylor said. "I mean, you guys have done it." She paused, her eyes glued to my face. I was trying to look anywhere but them. They were like wolves waiting to pounce on a wounded rabbit. "Right?"

I didn't answer them. Instead I wiped off my fork with my napkin. It fell right on my waffle, where the maple syrup had piled up.

"No freaking way," Anika said, her voice monotone and low. "There's just no way. Please tell me you have hit that at least once, Belly. Please. How long have you guys been going out? Five months?"

"Five months and three quarters," Taylor clarified. "I suspected this much, you know. Every time I see him it's like he has that hungry look on his face. He is totally itching to bone."

"Oh my God!" I said. My face felt like it was on fire. "Please! Don't ever say that again."

"I'm going to say it as many times as necessary," Taylor said matter-of-factly, placing a strawberry syrup-soaked piece of waffle into her mouth, "because it's true."

"Has he at least tried?" asked Anika.

"We've. . . gotten close," I admitted, my face still as hot as a fever. It was true – we had gotten close, on numerous occasions. Usually when we were lying on my bed, watching a movie. We'd start making out, and then that would lead to more serious stuff. . . but we never went all the way. And Taylor was right: I knew Sam wanted to. He was never the one that pulled away; I was, and the true gentleman that he was, he always let me.

That was how I knew I could really love him. I could really love Sam, if I gave him the chance.

My reply was enough for Anika and Taylor. They both nodded and didn't push it. After all, we were in a family-friendly establishment. We didn't want to be known as the girls that talked about sex at a waffle restaurant and made children's ears bleed, ten o'clock on a Saturday morning.

"I'm sure there are other twenty-one year old virgins out there," Anika said. "Definitely. I mean, what about the convents in Bulgaria, you know?"

I rolled my eyes, but Taylor laughed.

"Don't tease Belly," Taylor said, after wiping her eyes from crying from laughing so hard. "Believe it or not, Belly, I admire you. I wish I would have never lost it to Kenny Leberman in the eleventh grade. No pressure," she said, flashing her white teeth at me. "That's my Belly. Good and pure. Maybe she can actually wear white at her wedding. Unlike _some_ of us here," she said, motioning towards Anika.

Anika rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I was young and stupid, okay?"

"Was?" Taylor said sweetly.

Anika poured her coffee all over Taylor's waffle. Taylor didn't even flinch. Instead she just checked her phone and said, "That's okay. I was done eating, anyway."

ooooo

_Do you remember that day you swam out too far in the ocean, and I swam out to get you? My mom, Laurel, Steven and Jeremiah had been looking for you, and that's when I saw you – this tiny speck in the ocean, way out in the distance, waving your arms. Steven was taking off his shirt to go in after you, but I was already in the water. I couldn't explain it. Later on I would think about it, and I would ask myself why I didn't just let Steven get you – he was ready, and he wouldn't have gotten there any later than I did. All I remember is, at that moment, I didn't think of any of that. I just went in to get you, and when I finally got there, you were so tired of trying to keep afloat in the water. I held onto you, and you looked at me and you said, "I knew you'd come, Conrad." And then that's when I knew why I hadn't waited for Steven. That's when I knew why it had to be me to be the one to come and get you.  
><em>

_After we came back to shore, my mom wrapped a towel around me, and she kissed my head and held me close. She whispered, "That's my little boy, Conrad. That's my boy." I was soaking wet but she didn't care, she held me so tight. And then I looked at you, with your mom and Steven around you, telling you what a stupid idea it was to swim so far out, but you were just looking at me. And then you smiled. And even though I was mad, I started to laugh. Because there you were, Belly, you'd almost drowned and you were there, just smiling at me. God, I didn't know whether to tell you off, like Steven, or to make you promise never to do that again.  
><em>

_So instead I went up to you, and I said, "If you do that again, I'm not going after you. I mean it, Belly." And you nodded, your smile gone._

_I lied that day. I was good at it back then. The truth is that even if you had decided to swim back five minutes later, even farther out than before, I would have gone in right after you, in a heartbeat._

ooo

That night I lay awake, unable to sleep. I had already turned on my bedside lamp numerous times, rereading the letter again and again, before laying back down and turning off the light – only to do it again, a few minutes later. My stomach felt all fluttery, and I tossed and turned, anxious. My mind was anything but lethargic, instead electrified with questions about my latest letter from Conrad.

This letter was different. Even the way he broached the subject, so inapprehensive and so direct, made me feel uneasy. Like things were changing. Would all his letters, from this point on, be this honest? And did he expect me to reciprocate? To slowly, ever so slowly, open that loaded chest back up and lay it all back out there? I didn't know. I couldn't even begin to.

That night, I eventually fell asleep. I dreamt that I was back in the ocean, floating far from shore, struggling to keep my head above the water. And then in the distance I would see him, this tiny figure swimming towards me. And right away, even in my dreams, I knew. It was Conrad. He was coming for me.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Thoughts, laments, squeals of joy? Review and let me know!<p> 


	4. Part 4

**A/N: **So, seriously, I never thought I could churn out four chapters in four days. I think this has mostly to do with the fact that I've been off from work, which has been rad (let's not lie). This has got to be some personal record. Regardless, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

><p><strong>- Part Four -<strong>

Cousins was different when it wasn't summer. Not in a bad way, just in a different way. The sky wasn't the deep cerulean blue it usually was, but instead a murky gray – the kind of gray you get when you sit in the bathwater too long – and the sand was cold underneath my feet. But no matter what season, Cousins was still Cousins. That was why everybody, at some point, always came back.

I left when it was dark so I could be there by early morning. It was winter, so I had bundled myself up in the thickest sweater I could find and had a spare blanket in the backseat of my car. It was so early that there was barely anybody on the road, except for the occasional truck driving cross-country to deliver or pick up. Early morning drives were high up on my Favorite Things list. There was just something about it, something so perfectly lonely, about being the only one on the road. It made you feel like you were the only person left in the world. It was calming somehow.

I'd left Anika a note on the counter so she wouldn't worry. Regardless, I knew I should be expecting a call from her later on, checking up to see if I had gotten where I needed to go safely. The good thing about Anika was that she didn't ask questions. She understood that if I felt like sharing, I would share, even without her having to ask.

I was about halfway there, with the sky slowly lightening for daybreak, when the song came on. I had forgotten I'd put it on my Ipod. It must have been ages since I'd heard it. Somehow, by some hand dealt by fate, I had always managed to avoid it, even when it was on shuffle. The few times it came on, I quickly skipped past it. I knew what it would do. I could feel the unraveling, the uncoiling of past memories and past feelings I had tried so hard to bury away, already begin to start.

I moved my hand towards my Ipod to skip it, like I always had, but this time I stopped myself. I kept my eyes on empty stretch of road in front of me. I kept my hand there for a few more seconds before I moved it away, letting it crumple into a fist on my lap. I didn't know why I had chosen now, out of all the other times, to face the memory. I'd remembered it many times before, of course, but with the song, it was like I was back there again. It was an instant time machine. One second I was in my car, driving to Cousins, and then the next I was Belly again, slow dancing with Conrad Fisher in front of his car, asking him to close his eyes and remember us forever.

I swallowed hard. _You were the first boy I ever loved. Sometimes I'm convinced you are the only boy I'm ever going to love._

For the entire length of the song, I felt like I had been holding my breath. When it ended, I exhaled, but my stomach still felt tight and bound. If I hadn't known it was impossible, I could have sworn I held my breath the rest of the way to Cousins.

ooo

I kept all of the things that reminded me of Conrad in a box. It was a special box, one that Susannah had helped me make as a special project one day. I had seen her own memory box, decorated with ribbons and buttons and seashells, and she promised me that I would have my own one day. So the very next day, she woke me up early so we could take a trip to the craft store. We bought a medium brown box – not too big, not too small, because as important as memories were, it was important not to have them swallow you up, she said – and then bought a bag of seashells, glue gun bullets, some ribbon in my favorite periwinkle color, and glitter.

That day, while the boys went outside and played, Susannah and I stayed in, working on my box on the kitchen table. She even put on her favorite albums so we could listen to them while we worked. We got our fingers burned by hot glue and got glitter all over our clothes, but we couldn't stop laughing for enough time to get mad. My mom even joined in at one point, helping me place the seashells around the border when Mr. Fisher called to talk to Susannah. My mom was different from Susannah. Susannah was spontaneous and sometimes put a little too much glue that it seeped out of the sides of the shells. My mom was careful and methodical – she glued them in precise straight lines and barely had any glue coming out. The side my mom did would come out to be the neatest, but that didn't surprise any of us. Not even Susannah.

It became my Conrad box even before I decided it would. I kept my Florida prickly cockle shell in there and even the spoon from the night they ran out of my favorite ice cream, rocky road. It was Conrad's favorite, too, and he had gotten the last scoop.

"Just get another flavor, Belly," Steven said, his ice cream already half gone. He had gotten cookies and cream. Beside him, Jeremiah had gotten rainbow sherbet.

But I just stood there and stared at the empty vat of rocky road ice cream. Even the sides had been scraped clean.

Then, suddenly, Conrad was beside me, holding his ice cream out in front of my face. I looked up at him, startled. He had only had one bite.

"Here, just take mine, Belly," he said. He didn't even look sad about it, and I knew Conrad loved rocky road ice cream as much as I did.

"Don't do it, Con," Steven said from behind us. "Just let her get another dumb flavor." Steven was really adamant about not letting people spoil me. Personally, I didn't see it. I was nothing like Taylor, who went shopping every weekend and got everything she wanted.

"It's okay, take it," he said to me, and his eyes were gentle. "I'll just get another flavor. I kind of wanted cookie dough, anyway."

I knew he was lying, but I took his ice cream anyway, even when Steven shot me a look.

"Thanks, Conrad," I said to him, smiling. My face felt a little warm, a little embarrassed that he had to give his ice cream to me. He just nodded, telling me that I was welcome, before moving up to the counter and ordering a cookie dough ice cream in a cup.

I finished my rocky road ice cream that night. Then, when nobody was looking, I wiped off the spoon with my napkin and shoved it in my pocket to put it in my box for later. Much, much later on, it would be joined with a few other things: my glass unicorn, a ticket stub from the day I swam too far out and Conrad saved me, the infinity necklace, his letters. Even a Polaroid of us, taken when we were younger. I must have only been four years old, and Conrad was six. We were building sandcastles. He was carrying a plastic bucket of sand, and we were walking back to the house. When Susannah took the picture, he had been holding my hand, and smiling.

Some days it was easiest to remember all of the things Conrad Fisher had taken away from me. But the truth was that he had given me a lot, too.

ooo

When I drove up to the house, I noticed that Mr. Fisher's car was in the driveway. I carefully parked beside him, curious. I hadn't ever heard of Mr. Fisher coming out to Cousins, but maybe that was because I had never asked.

I shoved my keys in my sweater pocket, making my way up the steps. I just hoped he was alone. I didn't know how I'd feel if Mr. Fisher had brought one of his flavors of the month up to the beach house – which, technically, wasn't his, but Jeremiah's and Conrad's. And I knew they wouldn't be too happy about that at all.

But even if Mr. Fisher had been a lousy father and a lousy husband, I doubt he would do that to Susannah. This had been Susannah's favorite place. Even Mr. Fisher couldn't be as heartless as that.

The door was open, so I walked in. I looked around, but it seemed empty. Everything was right where I remembered it, and for a moment I felt pure nostalgia run over me. I hadn't been back to Cousins since the almost-wedding, and somehow, I'd forgotten how much I missed it. Suddenly I wanted to sink down to my knees and cry, for absolutely no reason I could fathom, except that I missed Susannah. I missed how things used to be. I missed Cousins in the summer, I missed Jeremiah, and I missed all of us, together. Now it was like we had been a glass plate that had been shattered, sending its pieces scattered every which way it could, never to be put back together.

I sank down on the couch and grabbed a pillow. It was the blue linen one, with the white seahorse. I hugged it close to me while I took deep breaths and tried not to cry. I felt like I was eight years old all over again. But the more I sat there, in the old couch that sank a little too low when you sat in it because of how old it was, with my face in the pillow, the more I couldn't hold it in. I cried for what seemed like forever, with my body shaking and my breaths shuddering in and out. _I'm sorry, Susannah_, I thought. _This is all my fault_. _All of us, we aren't together anymore, and it's all because of me_.

It had been her dying wish, and I had ruined it.

Suddenly, I heard a noise from outside. I sat up, wiping my eyes with my sleeves, setting the pillow aside. And then I got up.

"Mr. Fisher?" I said, my voice still hoarse from crying. "Mr. Fisher? It's me, Belly."

I looked around the kitchen, but I didn't see anyone. I heard more shuffling outside, so I walked over to the screen door. I could see a faint figure, so I opened it.

"Mr. Fisher, I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I mean, I could leave, if you want."

And then I looked up, and it was like the breath had been knocked out of my body. My head felt light, like it was a soccer ball and somebody had just kicked it across the field.

Goal.

It wasn't Mr. Fisher. It wasn't Mr. Fisher at all. It was Conrad.

"Belly?" he said, and he looked like he couldn't believe it, either. His hair was still a little wet, so I assumed he had taken an early morning swim. I remembered a few years back that they had installed a water heating system in the pool so they could use it even in the colder seasons.

"Conrad?" I sputtered out his name, because for a second I thought I had forgotten how to speak. I could barely take the situation in. Conrad wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in California, in med school, probably dating some pretty girl that modeled for clothing catalogs. Or maybe not in California, but Boston. Anywhere but here.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly, but my heart was already beating against my rib cage. The more he got closer to me, the more I wanted to close my eyes and tell myself this wasn't real. After being apart for so long, he was suddenly here, and so was I. How many times had I dreamed about this?

"I had a break, and it's Christmas vacation," he answered. I started to back away, even though my knees had locked in and every part of me wanted to stay there forever. If this was gravity, then I was quickly falling, and Conrad was the ground. "What about you?"

I could barely think, with the way he was looking at me. I knew that look. The way his jaw was clenched and his eyes were so intense I could feel them burning right into me. Everything – all of it, always started with that one look.

"I haven't been here since. . . since the wedding."

His eyes moved down from my face to something on my neck. Instantly I knew what he was looking at. Suddenly, I wanted to claw at my neck and rip the necklace off, but I didn't. I didn't touch it. Instead I backed away.

I swallowed hard, before lowering my eyes to the ground. "I have to go."

I rushed back into the house, denying the sudden heat that was coming from my eyes. _Don't cry, Belly. Whatever you do, don't cry. At least not here, not in front of him_. But I could hear his footsteps behind me, the sudden slam of the screen door as it hit the frame.

"Belly, wait," he said breathlessly, grabbing my arm. My entire body was pulled back, and soon I found myself facing him, just inches away from his face. "You don't have to leave."

"Yes, I do," I said. "I shouldn't have been here in the first place." I jerked my arm away from his hand and turned back around, stumbling over my feet.

"You're wrong. You belong here. This house is just as much yours as mine and Jere's."

I was at the door now. Then I walked out and was outside, running down the wooden steps. Hastily, hoping he wasn't looking, I quickly wiped my eyes with my arm. But I knew he was. Conrad Fisher, even when you thought he wasn't looking, always was.

"Belly!" he said, his voice almost pleading. I was at my car now, and was clumsily trying to fish out my keys from my pocket. I looked up at him and my heart broke all over again. "Stay," was all he said.

I thought about how easy it would have been to do what he asked. It was amazing how a single word – with a single syllable, four measly little letters – could wave through my body with such power. For a second I could picture old Belly, hopelessly in love Belly, dropping her hands to her sides and saying, "Okay" and walking back inside the house with Conrad. But I didn't imagine what would happen after that. I didn't let myself.

"I'm sorry," I said, as I unlocked the driver's side. My voice broke in two, leaving it weak and flimsy. "I can't."

If he said anything else, I didn't hear him. I was already in my car, slipping the key into the ignition, starting up the engine. I didn't want to look back, because I already knew what I'd see. Or rather, not _what_, but who – standing in the doorway, watching as I drove away.

ooo

Anika called me on my way back. I let it go to voicemail and then just texted her afterwards. _Got here safely. Heading home_. Even though she didn't text me back, I knew she had gotten it.

I don't know if I had intended to all along, but I ended up at Sam's apartment instead. I called him when I was outside, asking him to buzz me in. When he opened the door, I walked into him, wrapping my arms around him. He was warm and he smelled like soap, and he whispered into my hair as he somehow also managed to close the door behind us.

"Hey, hey. Is everything okay?"

I didn't speak. I just buried my head into his chest, taking deep breaths, still feeling the tears prickling my eyes. We stood there for a moment while he stroked my hair and gently whispered words of comfort to me. I closed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion of my body, breathing him in. I thought about how vital this was, having somebody hold you when you needed them to.

Slowly, over time, my world stopped spinning and I pulled back, looking him in the eyes.

"Let's go to your room," I said, and he wordlessly nodded.

We laid down on his bed, even though I saw a book out on the counter that I knew he was in the middle of reading, before I had barged in. My face felt sticky and my hair stuck to the sides of my face, but he smoothed them all away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked me, quietly.

I shook my head. "No." And then I took a breath, closing my eyes. "This is good. Just being here, with you. This is what I want."

The image of Conrad on the steps flashed in my mind. _Stay_.

I felt him kiss me on the forehead, and I snuggled closer to him.

"I love you," Sam said. He said this in an exhale. When I opened my eyes, I could see that he had closed his, too.

"I love you, too," I said, and I kissed him. Hard.

I didn't know if I meant it, but I wanted to. At that moment, there was nothing else I wanted more – nothing else that I allowed myself to want – than to mean what I said to Sam. Because here was Sam, just like Jeremiah before him, a boy that actually deserved to be loved, that stood by when I needed him, that didn't take off at the first sign when things got rough. He didn't take things away when he felt like it. He was a guarantee. He was safe. He was solid.

That was what I was supposed to love. Nothing else.

This time, I didn't pull away. I played along. I let it happen.

ooo

When I woke up, my phone was dead. Back in Cousins, I had been stuck on one bar of battery left and now, as I tried turning it back on, the screen stayed black.

It was dark. I turned on the bedside lamp and looked around. Sam was no longer beside me, but I could hear the faint noise of the TV from the other room. I quickly dressed up and brushed my hair with my fingers, before tying it up. I glimpsed at his clock. It was six o'clock. I could feel a slight ache in my head, and I was a little disoriented. Was it six in the morning or at night?

I stumbled out to see Sam in the kitchen, his back turned to me, and his roommate, Todd, watching TV with a can of Pringles. He nodded at me, and called out to Sam.

"Sam, your girl's up."

Sam turned around, smiling at me. I walked towards him and sat on the stool behind the counter. He leaned over and kissed me.

"Hey. How'd you sleep?"

"Good. A little too good," I said, minding my headache. "Do you have any Tylenol?"

He nodded and pointed at the cabinet to his right. I got up and found the bottle, taking two with a few sips of water. I could tell by what he was cooking that it was six in the afternoon. Nobody in their right mind would be boiling pasta and spaghetti sauce for breakfast.

"Thanks," I said, rinsing out my glass. "I think I'm gonna head out."

He looked up from the stove. "You don't wanna stay for dinner?"

I saw from the look on his face that he wanted me to. Taylor and Anika would die when I told them about this. Our first time having sex, and I wake up, he's making dinner and wants me to stay. Even Brent, the water polo god that Taylor was going out with, was not this sweet. And I wasn't nearly anywhere as pretty as Taylor.

"I'd love to," I said, "but I've got a huge headache. I think I should just head home."

He nodded, and then kissed me. "Okay. Just call me later."

I said goodbye to Todd and then left, my hands shaking in my pockets. As I walked to my car, the day I'd had seemed like a distant memory – even dreamlike, almost. Nothing seemed real. Driving to Cousins, being at the house again after so long, seeing Conrad there, him grabbing my arm and looking at me that way again. . . and then here, with Sam. Hearing him say that he loved me, and saying that I loved him back, wanting so much to mean it. Then we'd had sex. Belly Conklin, virgin no more. Wasn't I supposed to feel happy about this? After all, it wasn't like I'd lost it in some sleazy one night stand, to a boy that wouldn't even remember my name in the morning. This was Sam. Sam, a boy that loved me, who had been dubbed the Perfect Boyfriend by my two closest friends. Wasn't that supposed to mean something? Wasn't I supposed to feel. . . elated?

But I didn't. Instead I felt empty, and confused.

When I arrived back at the apartment, Anika tore the door open even before I turned the lock.

"Iz! Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you like crazy! All I kept getting was your voicemail!"

I blinked at her. My head began to pound again, thanks to her raised voice. "My phone died. I was at Sam's," I said, walking in. She closed the door behind me.

"Well, it'd have been nice if you let me know that little tidbit of info," she said. I turned around, about to ask her why she was all strung up, before I found a white envelope being shoved in my face.

"Mr. Unattainable came by. You know. Conrad?"

I was afraid to look at her. I stared at the letter, feeling my heart turn over in my chest.

"He stayed for, like, an hour, even though I told him you weren't here. Eventually I had to kick him out because I had to leave for work. Then he told me to give this to you."

Silently, I took it from her. There was something heavy inside.

Anika sighed. "Look, there's some dinner in the oven. I can see you've had a long day. If you want to talk or whatever, I'll be in my room, okay?"

I nodded stiffly; before I heard her walk away. She went into her room, but she didn't close her door all the way.

When I got to my room, I sank down to my bed. I stared at what he'd scrawled on the front of the letter. It was written hurriedly, but I could still recognize it just the same. _Belly_.

I untucked the flap of the envelope. Inside was a note, along with a key.

_This belongs to you._

I knew exactly what the key was for. It was the key to the summer house. I had given mine up after the day of the wedding; nobody asked me to, but I had left it behind, in the shell jar. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do – to cut myself out of the picture for awhile, for as long as it would take, really, for things to go back to the way they were.

It was symbolic more than anything else. I knew Susannah kept a spare key underneath the loose plank in the corner, in case any one of us ever got locked out.

I examined the key. It was old; the silver was wearing off, revealing the tawny copperish metal inside. The ridges were now rounded from so much use. On the top was an inscribed I, for Isabel. Susannah had our keys engraved before she died. My mom said it was close to pointless, but it was exactly the kind of thing Susannah would do. "That way there's no mistake," she'd said, handing them out to each of us, "that all of you belong at the summer house. Not just Jere and Con, but Belly and Steven and you, too, Laur."

I got off the bed, getting on my knees and slipping out my memory box. Without thinking twice, I placed the key and the note inside. Then I put the lid back on and shoved it back in.

I scrambled back into bed. I wasn't sleepy, but I laid there for the rest of the night, in my own little bubble, until the morning. I never called Sam like I said I would.

* * *

><p>Finally, Conrad shows up in the flesh! Could this be the turning point we've all been waiting for? Please review!<p> 


	5. Part 5

**- Part Five -**

CONRAD

After she left, I paced around the house, trying to figure out what to do. I hadn't had any idea she would come to the summer house – so far, from what Laurel had told me, she'd stayed away completely. Even though I believed that, I knew Belly almost as much as I knew myself. She would come back eventually. A part of her was still at Cousins, just like all of us. Eventually, she would come back.

I just had no idea it would be today.

"Fuck!" I said. I grabbed my dad's car keys and started heading down the steps. Then I remembered something. I went back inside, heading straight to the kitchen, where I remembered seeing it. I fished through the old shells and stale fortune cookies in the jar. I found it at the bottom. A tawny key, identical to my own, inscribed with an I. I shoved it in my pocket, grabbing a piece of paper and an envelope (in case she didn't want to see me), before running back out to the car.

As I drove, I thought about how long it had been since I'd seen her. She looked the same, but there was something different about her, too – her hair was longer, and she'd gotten bangs. I knew better, anyway. Belly could have pierced her tongue and dyed her hair pink and I knew she'd still be Belly.

She'd been crying when she'd come out to the back, expecting to see my dad. It was pretty unmistakable. Having once been the main reason for her tears, I came to know the signs, eventually. It wasn't something I was proud of. It was something that just was. Something I hated, but had to live with.

I didn't know what I was doing. I had made myself swear that I would stay away from her – at least until everything was back on the mend. With the shit I had pulled at the wedding, losing both Jere and Belly, I didn't deserve to be anywhere near her. Not for awhile. Not while everybody was still hurting. But then she showed up, and she looked at me that way again, with her eyes all soft, wearing the necklace I had sent her for her birthday. . . it was too much. I was too selfish. Loving her from afar and not being able to do anything about it was torture, but at least it was bearable. Loving her and standing still when she was just a few feet away was just impossible.

The whole reason I had started writing to her was so I could do it right. I couldn't start over, but I could try again. I could do it right, this time, so that I didn't have to feel guilty about anything. For once, I could finally deserve her.

ooo

I didn't see Belly's car when I arrived at her apartment, but I managed to get into the complex right behind a guy carrying groceries. The elevator took too long, so I raced up five flights of stairs.

Belly's roommate answered the door. I recognized her from the wedding. She had long, dark hair and olive skin. She looked shocked to see me, but I knew she recognized me. Her eyes narrowed, as if she was suspicious. I couldn't blame her.

"Is Belly here?" I asked, out of breath.

"No," she told me. "She's still out. Why?"

"I need to see her."

She shrugged, but I could tell she was a little guarded. "I don't know what to tell you, man. She's not here. I'll tell her you stopped by."

I laid my hand flat on the door, interrupting her just as she was about to close the door on me. She shot me an annoyed yet surprised look. "Can I come in? Please. I'll just wait."

She stood there for a minute, thinking, before she hesitantly opened the door to me. That slightly distrustful look she had on her face didn't waver one bit but she looked like she felt sorry for me, too. I didn't mind that. At this point, I'd take what I could get.

"Fine. But I have work in an hour, and if she's not back by then, I seriously have to kick you out."

"That sounds great," I said, walking in. I could still feel her burning holes into the back of my head with her eyes. "Thanks."

"Just wait here," she said, pointing to the couch. She was already reaching for her cell phone in her pocket. "I'm gonna call her, but I can't guarantee anything."

I nodded, sitting down, and she disappeared down the hall. I looked around. I had never been in Belly's apartment before, but it suited her. It was neat and she had a few things lying around – shells on the coffee table for decoration, some framed band posters, and some pictures she'd hung up. I stood up, wanting to get a closer look. She had a few of her, Steven, Laurel and her dad, and some of her with her roommate and Taylor. There was even one of her in a black dress, her mouth open and her eyes squinted shut, laughing. She had white frosting smeared all over her face and a plastic crown on her head. I looked at the cake in front of her. The candles said 20.

As I looked at it, something obtrusive appeared in my throat, and my chest swelled. God, I missed her.

"I've called her three times," Anika said, walking back into the room. "She's not answering. Straight to voicemail." And then she sat herself down on a kitchen stool, watching me. "Do you still want to wait?"

"Yeah," I said, tearing myself away from the picture, and heading back to the couch. "I do."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." But she didn't leave. She continued to sit there, in that stool, and grabbed a magazine. She opened it up and began to flip through it.

We must have sat there for twenty minutes without saying a word. I listened to the sound of the pages turning in her magazine and watched from the corner of my eye as she checked her cell phone every other minute, as if she was expecting a call from Belly any minute now.

"So. Conrad, is it? What brings you here?" Her voice was perfectly calm and civil, but I could still hear a sharp edge to it. The kind of sharp edge that said, _You've hurt my friend too many times already. You better watch it_.

"I'm down here for Christmas break. I'm staying at the summer house in Cousins. I came here because," I said, clearing my throat, noticing exactly how closely she was watching me, "I had something to give to Belly. Something from my mom."

She was silent for a few moments, before she spoke up again. "I know you've been writing to her. She tried to hide it from me but she isn't really great at that. Isabel's like a kid that way." She paused, then, as if she was expecting me to say something back. I didn't. She continued. "She's happy, you know. She's with someone now – someone nice, who treats her well. Someone who's good for her. I just thought you should know that."

I kept my eyes on the TV directly across from me as she said that. I could vaguely see my own reflection staring back at me, perfectly still, with my back hunched and my hands idle. I wasn't the least bit surprised at this bit of news. Of course she was with someone now; it'd been long enough, and she was Belly. Iridescent, kind, beautiful, infuriating yet entirely lovable Belly. Even before she saw any of these things, I did. And I'd been asking for too much, hoping that somehow, someway, she was still waiting for me.

Suddenly, I regretted coming here. Why was I here, anyway? What had I been expecting? Belly to greet me with open arms, just like before, after I had massively fucked up her life?

"I'm happy for her," I said, but my voice betrayed me. Instead of sounding genuine, it fell flat. Figures. It felt as much.

Her roommate caught this. "Are you really?" she asked me. She put her magazine down on the counter. "Because I think that sounds like some grade-A bullshit."

I didn't say a word, because she was right. So she got up, nodding to herself, walking into their kitchen. "Since we're going to be sitting here for another half hour, do you want something to drink?"

I was insanely thirsty but I shook my head. Running up five flights of stairs tended to do that to a guy. "No, thanks."

ooo

Belly never came home. I tried to hide my frustration when her roommate, glancing up from her magazine, stood up and said, "It's been an hour. You know what that means, Conrad." I nodded, my jaw clenched, as I took out the envelope, key, and piece of paper. Anika handed me a pen, before stepping back and crossing her arms across her chest, watching attentively.

I didn't want to think about all of the things Belly had told her friends about me to make them look at me like I was the scum of the earth. I didn't want to think about it, because everything she had told them was probably true.

I hurriedly wrote her name on the envelope before I dropped the key in, tucking in the envelope flap. And then I handed the envelope and pen back to her roommate.

She spoke up as she opened the door for me. "I think you're a good guy, Conrad. Belly wouldn't still love you if you weren't. But I also think you're really good at fucking up. And therein lies the problem." She pursed her lips. I stepped out into the hallway. "I'll tell her you stopped by."

I watched the door close before I started heading back to my car, her roommate's voice echoing through my head.

_Belly wouldn't still love you if you weren't_.

And just like that, that little bit of hope I'd had that had gone out like a flame – flickered back on.

ooo

Every now and then, when I was at the summer house in Cousins, Laure would come down for a visit. I always looked forward to these visits – Laurel was different from my mom, but in some ways, she was the same. She still had that motherly thing going, but Laurel was more subtle about it. For one thing: Laurel always treated you like you were a grown-up. Even when I was younger, she never talked down to me, or dumbed it down, like most adults usually do. She talked to me exactly the way she talked to my mom, or even my dad. So I had a lot of respect for Laurel.

Laurel became my surrogate mother, for the most part. For the things I needed my mom for, I found myself going to Laurel. Even being around her, hearing her ask simple things like how I was doing, how med school was – it was therapeutic. Sometimes all you needed was somebody to ask if you were okay to _be_ okay.

With her, I didn't have to do much explaining. Somehow, some way, she just knew. It was in this way that she was exactly like my mom. Seemingly all-knowing, even if they really weren't.

We were sitting out in the patio. It was towards the end of summer, and the moon was so big and full it was eerie and hypnotizing. She was sitting next to me, drinking a glass of wine, while I was halfway done with my beer.

"How is she?" I asked, taking a swig of beer. I kept my eyes on the moon, hearing the soft crash of the water against the sand.

"She's good," Laurel said. She tucked her legs underneath her. Both she and my mom used to do that. When I was younger, whenever I went outside to ask my mom for something, they would be sitting on the wooden chairs in the patio, drinking wine with their knees folded, and it always struck me how much younger they looked when they did that. I remembered seeing a picture of them from college in that exact pose, wearing sunglasses with margaritas in their hands.

"She'll be leaving for Spain soon, for her study abroad program. So she's pretty excited about that."

I nodded. She had told me about Belly's study abroad program in Granada once, in passing. I had more questions, but I swallowed them back as I drank. Even so, I knew Laurel already knew. We sat there in silence for a few more minutes, polishing off our drinks and breathing in the salty sea air.

"Do you think things will ever go back to the way they were?" I asked. When I heard my voice, I didn't recognize myself. It was like I was little again. Little, and uncertain of the world.

"No." She gently shook her head. "That would take a time machine, Con. The things we've been through, all of us, that can't be undone." She paused, looking at me. "But I do believe we'll adjust. We'll reconcile with the past and build from that – and who knows? Maybe it'll be even better than before." She smiled at me, a kind of ironic smile, and I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. I circled my finger against the curved lip of the bottle.

"I just – I don't know how to make things right. I don't even know where to start."

That was the thing about messing up big time. It was hard to know where you were supposed to start – or which grudge you were supposed to begin chipping away at, first.

Laurel was quiet for a second. "Did I ever tell you the story of how Liam and I got together?"

Liam was Belly's dad. I vaguely remembered that my mom had mentioned it to us once, but that was years ago. "He was your ex-boyfriend's best friend."

She nodded. "Right. And I wasn't that kind of girl, so I avoided him as much as possible. He wasn't a bad guy, you know – but from the very first day that I met him, at a college party, I felt something. That same something told me that it wasn't safe to hang around him while I was still with my boyfriend, so I followed that. The summer after my boyfriend and I broke up, I went to live with my aunt in New Mexico for a few months. And he started to write me letters. Constantly. Sometimes they were even written on bar napkins." She smiled at this, a little. I could tell she was enjoying her trip down memory lane.

"Did you ever write back to him?"

"Not at first." She looked at me. "But I did, eventually. And then when I saw him again, the first day of my senior year of college, I knew."

I ran my hand through my hair, rubbing my neck. "No offense, Laure, but you two didn't exactly stick it together. If you know what I mean."

I remembered when I had first heard about Laurel and Liam divorcing. I was young, but even then I hadn't been surprised. I rarely saw him around, except for really special occasions. He never came to the summer house with us, just like my dad. But maybe that was it. Maybe they just never belonged there in the first place, and that's why they never stuck around.

"Just because it wasn't the two of us standing there, at the end," she said to me, "doesn't mean we weren't meant to be together. We _were_ meant to be together, Con. But for a while. Just not forever."

She was smiling. It was a bittersweet smile, the kind of smile you put on when you're both happy and sad about something. Laure hardly ever talked about her ex-husband this way; she was purely a Look Forward kind of woman. So I knew it had to mean something for her to bring it up to me, now.

Later on, after Laurel had left, I would find a piece of paper left on the kitchen counter. It was written on the back of an old gas station receipt. Even before I picked it up, I knew exactly what it was.

I kept it tacked up on my bulletin board on my desk. I saw it for weeks before I finally sat down and wrote her a letter. I wrote and threw away three drafts because I was nervous. On the fourth try, I was better. I was fluent.

But – maybe I had been writing letters to her this entire time, even before her and Jere's almost-wedding. Maybe it was just about time I started sending them.


	6. Part 6

Thanks for all the rad reviews! This fic is finally winding down to an end - probably just one or two chapters left before the end!

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><p><strong>- Part Six -<strong>

BELLY

It was the end of May, and the sun was out. It'd been out, but we hadn't really had a chance to see any of it until today – thanks to our most brutal round of finals yet. It was our last, so we tried our best to make it count. Even Taylor, who loved finals week about as much as she loved getting a root canal, had determinedly shown up to our study sessions, books in one hand and a six-pack of Red Bull in the other.

Taylor, Anika and I were having our celebratory official end-of-our-college-career brunch at Waffle Land, hitting up their All You Can Eat Waffles deal. We had taken an entire day to detox from the end of finals, with no contact allowed for at least seventeen hours due to deep hibernation. When we finally emerged, bed headed and finally all caught up on our sleep debt, we called each other up for our routine brunch date, and a good carb-load up, thanks to our recent steady diet of nothing but caffeine and whatever we could eat with one hand while we studied.

If I didn't see a granola fruit bar again in the next ten years, even that would be too soon.

"I can't believe we just finished our last round of finals," Taylor sighed, putting down her glass of orange juice. "And we're _graduating_." She scrunched up her face. "God, we're _old_. How did _that_ happen?"

"Easy for you to say. I'm heading straight to graduate school, remember?" Anika said, semi-grumbling as she dug into her chocolate chip waffle.

"Still, you've got summer," I said to Anika. I heartily poured maple syrup on my two-stack of waffles, watching it ooze beautifully. "Sweet, sweet summer."

"Think about all the things we survived, graduating college in four years," Anika said, shaking her head.

"And think about all the things that didn't," Taylor said, giving me a sorry look. I looked away, setting the maple syrup back in the rotating bin. It didn't bother me as much anymore, not even when I saw him in the hallway, or in class. We had only been going out for seven and a half months – it wasn't like it had been a serious relationship that had been leading up to something. I knew that, and somewhere along the way, I think he did, too. Which was why we eventually agreed to part ways, as amicable friends.

The worst part about it was that it had probably been the nicest break-up I had ever been through – not that I'd had many to compare it to, to begin with. It was hard to hate him when he kissed your forehead and told you that he really thought you could've been the one. And maybe if I hadn't still had that stack of letters from Conrad that still came, month after month, despite the fact that I had long stopped responding, ever since that day I'd seen him in the summer house – maybe he would have been right.

"Belly's fine," Anika said. "Look at her. She obviously hasn't lost her appetite over it."

"Can we not bring my appetite into this?" I said, with my mouth full, and Anika gave me a joking wink.

"Anyway," Taylor said, breezily, "one of Brent's friends is having a party tomorrow night. It's supposed to be wild. You guys wanna come?"

Taylor did this thing where she would only ask as a courtesy, not because you actually had a choice. We'd known her long enough now to know that she was expecting us to come.

Anika pretended to think it over. "I could use a good party. Technically, I don't even need these brain cells again until next fall."

Taylor looked over at me expectantly. "Belly?"

"I'll stop by," I said. These past two years I had usually been the party-pooper of the group, always saying I had a paper to do or some errands to run. Taylor said it was like living with her 80-year-old grandmother, but even her grandmother still went to a few parties every now and then.

"That's _right_," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Making it on the Dean's List can no longer be an excuse for Belly Conklin not to have a crazy night out! Finally."

Anika nodded. "We are going to get you good and drunk, Iz. You deserve it. You and I, we are going to lose a good amount of brain cells tonight with a steady consumption of alcohol, and not even feel guilty about it, until morning after, when we have to face the gnarliest hangover ever."

And then Anika and Taylor toasted with their coffee mugs, smirking at each other.

"That," I said, wiping some syrup off my mouth, "is exactly what I was afraid of."

ooo

Christmas decorations used to be a family tradition. My mom, Steven and I would haul out the big box of Christmas decorations from the attic and spend an entire Saturday making our house look like Christmas, putting up tinsel garlands and the ceramic Santa and reindeer set that my gran had passed down to my mom. Those, especially, were my favorite. They were faded and old, perfectly delicate, and they looked like they had come out of a story book. Santa, with his cheeks painted pink from the cold, and his reindeer, carefully paying attention. There was one reindeer in the back that was missing part of its antler, because of the one year Steven had accidentally knocked it over with one of the boxes.

With Steven and me gone, I knew that my mom didn't have much time allotted for Christmas decorating. Last Christmas I had come home to a barely made up house – a miniature Christmas tree in the corner, the candy-cane striped pillows on the couch, and Gran's old reindeer set out. It seemed like a sad ghost of the extravagant version of Christmas in my memories.

This year, I got home and I had a plan. I would make up the house just like it used to be. So, on my second day back, I carried out the old box from the attic and did everything myself. I hung up the dusty Christmas garlands that Steven and I had made in second grade, complete with glittery snowflakes, and even the macaroni candlesticks from Mrs. Gladstone's class.

I left Mom's pathetic miniature Christmas tree in the attic. Instead, I drove to our local Christmas tree lot, bought one, and lugged it back home. It made our entire house smell like pine needles. I hung up the cornucopia of old ornaments we had – some given to Mom, some Steven and I had made; little cut out frames of us, laminated and labeled with our names in festive gold Sharpie. There was even an ornament or two with Jeremiah's and Conrad's name on it.

I put them next to mine and Steven's. That was how I had always done it in the past, and even though things had changed, it made no sense to place them any different.

It was weird how your childhood could be made up of little details just like that. The more I hung them up, the more everything came together, and the more I missed how things used to be. If only I had known things were going to change like this, I would have known to savor it more, to hold on tight to the things I knew I couldn't have forever. Maybe it would have made it easier to let go.

When my mom came home, she was taken aback by the sudden improvements to her house. I stood in the hallway, sipping my hot cocoa in my pajamas.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, Isabel Conklin," she remarked, impressed, setting her bag down.

"Just thought this house needed a little more Christmas cheer," I said, trying not to gloat over my work. "That pathetic mini-tree in the corner was just sad."

She nodded, unwrapping her scarf and taking off her coat. "I can't always afford such luxurious Christmas decorations – especially when it's just me here now. My little elves are all grown and gone."

"Not this one," I said to her, smiling, and she smiled back. "Come on, I made dinner. You can hand me my Best Daughter plaque later."

Later on that night, my mom and I sat down on the sofa, watching the old Christmas movies they had on cable. We ate the fudge brownies I had bought from the grocery store from the night before. My mom was in her fuzzy purple robe, which had lost much of its fuzz over the years. In a way, though, it only made it even softer.

"Steven's coming tomorrow," I said, finishing off my brownie. I licked the powdered sugar off my fingers. "He's bringing Sasha."

My mom just nodded in agreement, saying nothing.

"I think he's in love with her. Do you think he'll marry her?"

She looked at me. "Not now, but maybe in the future. Steven's not so rash when it comes to big decisions like that." The way her eyes flickered when she said that made me look away. I knew exactly what she was talking about – my own almost-wedding. She was right: it had been rash. Now that I was older, I knew better than to dismiss it as anything else.

"And," I said, "he's a guy. Evolutionarily programmed to be a commitmentphobe."

"To speak _very_ generally, yes," she said. "But there are a few that are exceptions. Then there are a few that have to commit to themselves before they can learn to commit to another person, and there's nothing wrong with that."

For a moment, there was a look on her face that made me think she was talking about Conrad. And then she turned back to the TV and said, "But it seems like Sam is one of the exceptions. He seems completely committed to you, from what you've told me."

I stayed quiet. I wasn't thinking about Sam at all. "I saw him at the summer house two weeks ago. I just came to visit, because I needed time to think, and I hadn't been there for so long. . . and he was there."

I didn't have to explain who I meant. My mom always already knew, especially when it came to Conrad.

"Oh?" Her voice was softer. "How is he?"

"He seemed fine. I mean, he looked fine." I swallowed the dry knot in my throat. I closed my eyes, trying to decide whether I should tell her about the letters. This was my opening now. This was my chance.

"Good," she said. "I'm glad. From what Adam told me, he's going to be spending Christmas with him this year. I'm not sure about Jeremiah, though." She trailed off after that. I knew a little bit about Jeremiah and about how adamant he was about keeping his distance from Conrad. For a while, I thought things had been going good – I'd seen him at his graduation, after all. But I guess he had only gone because he knew Susannah would have wanted it, the three Fisher boys, all together for Conrad's big day.

I knew Conrad had gone to Jeremiah's graduation, too. But Jeremiah hadn't stuck around for much long after. He and his frat brothers went off to Cabo just minutes after graduation. I knew this because I had been waiting for him outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of him just to say congrats.

I felt guilty that Jeremiah gave Conrad the cold shoulder more than he did me. When he saw me, he hesitantly stopped, and went to me. I gave my congrats and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. He held me tight before he let go, pulling back.

"Thanks," he said, but I could tell this was forced. When he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. I tried not to let it show that I could tell it was still painful for him.

"Have fun in Cabo," I said to him, as cheerfully as I could, and he nodded, already walking away, giving one last wave goodbye.

And that was it. That was the last time I ever saw Jeremiah Fisher.

From what I heard now, he was living with Redbird in an apartment and officially working for Mr. Fisher at his company. On my birthday he had texted, but that was the last I'd ever heard from him.

My mom started getting up, glancing at the clock. "Conrad did say he might stop by for New Year's." I knew she was studying me without even having to look at her, keeping my eyes on the TV instead. "That is, if he got the chance and they didn't call him in early. Is that okay with you, Belly?"

My heart felt too heavy for my chest, but I nodded. "Of course."

"Okay," my mom said. She leant in over the couch and kissed me on the forehead. "Just making sure. Good night, Belly. Thanks for the Christmas cheer. And the dinner." As she was walking away, she said, "You know, you really might be the best daughter I ever had."

I plastered on a smug smile. "I'm the only daughter you ever had."

I heard her laugh as she walked up the stairs.

ooo

That New Year's Eve, Conrad never showed. I'd known he wouldn't, but even still, I found myself sneaking glances at our window as the countdown neared its end. On the TV, the glittering disco ball was slowly getting lowered to the ground, and there were masses of people, all in silly sunglasses or hats, gathered in the Square, yelling out.

It was me, my mom, Steven, and his girlfriend, Sasha.

As the ball finally dropped and opened to colorful, flying confetti, we all yelled out, "Happy new year!" and Steven and Sasha leaned in for a kiss. My mom pulled me in for a hug, kissing my head. "Happy new year, Belly," she said to me.

"Happy new year, Mom," I said back to her, smiling.

I told myself I was too old for disappointment. How could I be disappointed, when I had known Conrad wouldn't show, all along? I'd been expecting him to be a no-show, yet hoping he'd prove me wrong. It was the old Belly that had hoped. She was good at that.

It was a habit, that was all. And old habits always died hard – if they ever died at all.

ooo

"If I still have this hangover by graduation," I hissed through my teeth, my head to the table, "I am so going to kill you guys. I mean it. And then I'll run away to Canada, dye my hair red, and change my name to Bertha."

Taylor let out a squeal of laughter and Anika flinched.

"If I still have this hangover by then," Anika grumbled, "then I give you total permission to kill me."

Taylor was the only one that was still able to function normally, for the most part. This was because Taylor, unlike Anika and I, had a superpower to be able to withstand massive amounts of alcohol, which she said she had inherited from her mom.

"You guys are such babies," she said, taking out some cereal. "Graduation is in three days. Chill. You'll be over it by then."

"I hate how smug you are right now," I moaned, and Taylor just flashed us a smile.

"If I could move, I would claw that smirk off your face," Anika barked.

We spent the rest of the day like this, eventually retiring to our own beds in our own rooms so that we wouldn't be tempted to kill each other, but more specifically: Taylor. Taylor eventually skipped off to see her boyfriend, before coming back later on that night. By then, Anika and I were in a better mood, having slept off most of what remained from our hangovers.

I was sitting out in the balcony when she came, with my feet up on the rail.

Taylor joined me, handing me a bowl of ice cream, closing the sliding door behind her. She sat down on the chair beside me, and we were quiet for a minute, looking out at the moon and taking small bites of our rocky road ice cream.

"There is only one boy you could be sitting here and thinking this deeply about," she finally said. "I know you, Isabel Conklin. Which I guess is expected, since we _are_ ending this chapter of our lives and starting another." She wiggled her toes, her feet raised next to mine. She had little white flowers on her toenails. "So what are you going to do?"

That was the big question. There we were, about to graduate in a few days' time, and as overwhelmed as I was, thinking about joining the shark pool that everybody so casually referred to as "the real world", having to start paying off my student loans and facing the big What Ifs of my future. . . the thought of him still lingered in the back of my mind. I guess it was because he was one of those big What Ifs, too.

He hadn't written me this month, and I couldn't help but wonder why. Had he gotten tired of it? Had he given up and moved on, because I'd stopped responding? If so, he could have written that in his last letter, at least. But that was the thing with Conrad. Even after all this time, he was so good at leaving you hanging. He practically had it down to an art. He showed up, and then he just disappeared. No goodbye, no nothing. Just gone. He was good at being gone.

"I guess, move on, right?" I said. "Look forward, and not back. Move on with my life, like a civilized human being."

Taylor scoffed loudly. "What, and never talk to him again? Come on. If you're going to decide to forget about him – which I've heard, like, a million times before, by the way – then you have to least tell him so. Talk to him, so he knows, and so you do, too."

I gave her a doubtful look, biting my bottom lip. Telling Conrad Fisher that I was going to officially forget about him, to his face – that presented a big problem. For one: just being near him made it impossible to forget him. Two: I had done that before, and look at me now.

"So," she said, asking again. "What are you going to do about Conrad?"

I closed my eyes. "I don't know," I said, sighing. "I mean, how do I even begin to know?"

My head spun at the sheer mass of our history and everything that could possibly come of it now. On the one hand, there was everything. My entire childhood infatuation with a boy that had given his rocky road ice cream to me, and told me the classification of my favorite shell. The boy that slow danced with me on a winter night, in front of his car, to a song that I loved.

Then on other, there was nothing.

"Maybe don't think about it," she said, licking her spoon. "Maybe when you see him, you'll just know."

"Wow," I said. "That's, like, scary vague."

She nodded. "Get used to it, Belly. We're adults now. From now on, our entire lives will be defined by those two words: Scary. Vague."

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud. It felt nice, and it released some of the tension in my throat. Taylor laughed a little, too.

"Belly," she said, her voice getting a little more serious. She was looking down at her ice cream bowl. "I know I give you a hard time about Conrad. I've never told you this before, but you guys were kind of it for me. It wasn't Beauty and the Beast, or Ariel and Prince Eric. It was my best friend, and the hot guy she spent her summers with." She smiled. "So I hope it works out, for both of you. Because if you aren't meant to be, then. . ." she trailed off. "Then I don't know who is."

I put my hand over hers. "Tay. . ."

She looked up at me, smirking. "But I mean, if he pulls something asshole-y again, all bets are off. I mean it, Belly. One wrong move and all of the tires to his car are flat. Okay?"

These were the moments I was awfully glad to have ended up with Taylor Jewel as my best friend. I couldn't imagine being this close with anyone else.

"You promise?" I said.

That mischievous glint in her eyes returned. She held out her pinky, and we both pinky-promised, just like we used to.


	7. Part 7

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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><p><strong>- Part Seven -<strong>

It was Steven who told me that Mr. Fisher had cheated on Susannah, not my mom – even though she was the front woman for the Dump Adam Fisher's Ass campaign. My mom had never given us any of the details about how Mr. Fisher had cheated on her, and how Susannah – kind, lovely Susannah – took him back afterwards. When we were younger, my mom was pretty tight-lipped about the grown-up things. Things that she said had "nothing to do" with us.

One night my mom and I were on the couch, watching some made-for-TV movie. In the beginning the main character's husband seemed really sweet, only to find out later that he was a cheater, and not a very good person at all. Usually my mom hated these kinds of movies, but there was nothing else on, so she stayed with me until the end.

"But he cheated on her," I said, when it rolled to the credits. "Like a thousand times. Even with the nanny! Why does she still love him?"

My mom looked at me. "Because we can't help who we love, Belly. Even when we find out they aren't who we thought they were." She patted my hand and started to get up, and I could tell her mind was already somewhere else. She called out good night to me before I heard her footsteps going up the stairs.

That night, as I thought about what she'd said, I knew she'd been talking about Mr. Fisher and Susannah. I knew that Susannah loved Mr. Fisher more than anything, which was why she always wore emerald green when she went on her date nights with him – because she knew that was his favorite color on her. She even got him his favorite cookies every time she went to the grocery store without him having to ask. My mom used to do that, too, but she would have never worn my dad's favorite color just because he liked it on her. I had always thought that was one of the reasons my parents never stayed together. Little things like that.

What my mom said that night was a universal truth, but it came to mean more to me than anything. For as long as I could remember, I had never had a choice in loving Conrad Fisher. It wasn't like I decided overnight that he would be the boy that stood out from all boys, that he would be the one worthy of all the years of bated breaths and silent hoping. Somehow, he just was, and I had completely no say in the matter.

It was never up to me to love Conrad Fisher. But it was up to me to decide what to do with it.

See, the worst part about loving someone is that love isn't a reward system. You don't love someone because they deserve it. You love someone because – somehow, some way – you just do. The universe had decided for you, and you had absolutely no choice, even when they hurt you. You couldn't choose to _un_love them, because you never chose to love them in the first place. But you could choose to live without them, to break free from that impossible hold the only way you could, and hope for the best.

You just had to mean it.

ooo

The night before graduation, Taylor slept over so that we could all get ready together. This was upon her insistence, so with an eye-roll from Anika, Taylor had dropped her designer overnight bag in my room and I moved my pillows over to my side of the bed.

When I woke up, I found Taylor already awake, with large hair curlers in her hair, rifling through my closet.

"I told you," I grumbled. "I'm wearing that black dress I bought. Remember?"

She wrinkled her nose at me. I could hear the plastic hangers slapping against each other. "But it's _cotton_. Besides," she said, taking out a pale blue dress from my closet and hanging it on my dresser, along with two others she had already picked out, "need I emphasize the fact that we _all_ have to look good today? Because we're _graduating_?"

She closed my closet door, turning around. She put her hands on her hips, barely able to contain her smile. And then she began to squeal, clapping her hands, jumping on my bed.

"_Graduating_, Belly! _Graduating_!"

"I heard you the first time," I said, trying to pull the covers over my face.

"Let's go make some pancakes," she said, then, and I felt her get off my bed. A second later, I felt her tickling my feet from under the covers. "Rise and shine!"

ooo

After making pancakes – one of Taylor's specialties was her chocolate chip pancakes, which she had learned from her aunt – all of us began to get ready. My mom had already called to let me know they were on their way, and I ended up choosing one of the three dresses Taylor had laid out for me. It was a pale blue dress I had bought last year, which I couldn't remember wearing more than once. When I put it on, Taylor's eyes lit up in the mirror, and I couldn't remember why I'd never worn it again. She was right. It was perfect.

"Oh Belly," she said, touching her fingers to her collarbone. "That's it. That's the dress." She clapped her hands again. "I done good, girl!"

I felt my face flush. "It's not like anyone's going to see, anyway. We'll all be wearing our grad gowns."

She only batted her eyelashes at me, before returning to putting on her make-up. As I looked at myself in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair, I couldn't help but think of how Susannah would have loved this dress. It cinched in at the perfect spot on the waist, and drew out in a flattering, full skirt. She would have said that it reminded her of the way the women used to dress in the Old Hollywood films we loved, but in a good way.

I wandered over to my jewelry box. I didn't have much, but I lingered on the shell necklace from Conrad. I was torn between wearing it and hiding it away, mostly for symbolic reasons. Was today the first day of a new beginning, or the last day of the end? And did it matter?

"Wear it if you want to," I heard Taylor say. She was applying mascara. "Like you said, it'll be underneath the gown anyway." She dropped her arm, blinking in the mirror. "Is he coming today?"

I fiddled with the necklace. "No. I mean, I don't know. Probably not."

I liked to think that my mom would have told me in advance if she'd known that Conrad was coming. I doubted he even knew I was graduating today. How could he? I hadn't written back in months.

It was wrong to expect it, so I tried not to. But expectations always work against you in that way. There was a thin line between hoping and expecting –and in the end, the distinction wasn't always clear. You end up disappointed, either way.

I ended up wearing the necklace. It looked best with the dress. As I waited in the living room, cleaning up the apartment a little before we began to head out, Anika came out. She was wearing a black dress with a white flower in her hair, and she was wearing make-up.

"Anika," I said, once I saw her. "Wow. You look like a completely different person!"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep back her smile. "I know, I know. But my entire family's coming today. My nana, too, and I haven't seen her in years. It's lame, I know."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I get it. You have to look good for Nana. That's important."

"You look nice, too," Anika said, squeezing in behind me to put something in the cupboard. "Like, hot. Really. But hot in an elegant way. A perfectly appropriate level of hotness for graduation."

I tried to curtsy to her and she laughed. "You can thank Taylor. She's the one who was going through my closet at seven in the morning because she disapproved of the one I had originally chosen."

Anika nodded. "Tay's crazy. Oh, by the way, this is yours. It got wedged in between the pages of this month's issue of the New Yorker, and I only got to it last night, so."

I looked up, drying my hands off. She set down a letter on the kitchen counter, and I felt my heart rise to my throat. I picked it up. I looked at the front of the envelope, staring at my name. Perfectly familiar. Perfectly the same.

I carefully tore the flap open, taking a seat down on a stool, and began to read.

ooo

"Okay. Truth or dare."

I looked at him expectantly beside me, laying on the hood of his car. I watched him as he popped some Trail Mix into his mouth, while I grabbed another handful from the bag.

I already couldn't wait to tell Taylor. She'd been texting me like crazy, but I turned my phone on silent. It could wait until tomorrow. Still, I could already imagine her face when I told her that I had spent my night – the night I was supposed to be studying for our dreaded Gov final – laying on the hood of Conrad Fisher's car, eating Trail Mix, looking at the stars and playing Truth or Dare. Taylor would pretend to be repulsed, and she'd say something like, "What, he couldn't even take you out to a movie?"

Even though she would know better. I wasn't high maintenance like Taylor. She'd know it was perfect, for me. Of course it was. It was Conrad.

"Dare."

It was childish, but I kept hoping that if I kept choosing dare, he would dare me to kiss him. I really wanted to, and I wanted him to want me to, too. Even though I knew better. Conrad wasn't the kind of guy to dare a girl to kiss him. He was in college, for Pete's sake.

"I dare you. . ." he paused for a moment, thinking. "To do an Irish jig."

I rolled my eyes. "An Irish jig? Seriously?"

"Come on," he said, smiling, and already I was convinced. Conrad Fisher's smile could convince a man to eat a bucket of lard. "Like we taught you. Do you still remember?"

"Vaguely," I said, but I was already getting off the hood of his car. Steven, Jeremiah and Conrad had taught me how to do an Irish jig for fun. They said all the cool girls knew how to do an Irish jig, so naturally, I was dying to learn. It was only later, when they were all laughing so hard that they were rolling on the floor and crying, that I realized it was all one big joke. The rest of that week they called me Belly O'Malley.

I stood in front of the car and did a jig. Conrad threw his head back and laughed. I hated it, and I knew I looked like an idiot, but I loved the way Conrad sounded when he laughed. He laughed so rarely now, so I even threw in a turn, which made him laugh even harder.

He told me once that no girl could ever make him laugh like I did, and I was incredibly proud of that honor. I would have done anything to make Conrad laugh. He looked so carefree when he did – like young Conrad, before his parents got divorced, before his mom got sick. I missed that Conrad, and I loved that I saw that Conrad most often when it was just us two, alone, together. Me and him. Because when a person laughed – really laughed – it meant they were happy. Even if it was just for a second.

He was wiping his eyes when I scrambled back on the hood. He was still smiling, and my breath caught. I wanted to kiss him so badly, and I didn't know whether I wanted him to be able to tell. Would that be so embarrassing?

"Okay. My turn. Truth," he said, exhaling.

I thought hard, resting my face on the palm of my hand. I felt something tug on the ends of my hair, and I looked down. Conrad was running his fingers through the ends of it. I felt myself shiver.

"Have you ever loved a girl before?"

He didn't stop running his hands through my hair, but his smile disappeared. Even so, I could feel my heart erratically dancing inside my chest, waiting for his answer.

"No," he said, not looking up from my hair.

"But you've had girlfriends," I said.

"I know I have," he said. "But not everybody you're going to be with you're going to love. You know that, don't you, Belly?"

The air around us changed instantly. His voice got sharp, like he was frustrated with me. Like I didn't know anything. Like I was just a kid.

"I know that," I said defensively, feeling a little stung. I immediately regretted asking my question. I collapsed back on my back, glaring up at the sky. I missed carefree, laughing Conrad already. Now he was back to Hot and Cold Conrad. The Conrad that was pulling you in one second and then pushing you away the next.

We were silent for a second. He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have said it like that. But no. I've never loved a girl before. At least, I don't think I have."

As I lay there, I had the urge to ask him if he loved me. Or, at least, if he thought he could. I bit the inside of my lip. Would that be childish, too?

"How come?" I asked, instead. I wondered what kind of girl would be worthy of his love. How she would have to look, what kind of books she would have to read, if she wouldn't like sweets just like Conrad, or what clubs she would be president of. One thing I knew for sure: she would have to be able to make him laugh. Bitterly, I hoped she was as funny as a pothole in the middle of the road.

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe it's because you can't choose who you love."

"But if you could, would you have?"

"No." He went back to playing with my hair. "No, I guess not." He didn't look up at me. "What about you? Did you ever love Cam Cameron?"

I relished the slightest hint of jealousy in his voice. I smiled. "You can't ask me. I haven't chosen yet."

"Fine. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," I said, and he asked again.

"No," I said truthfully. "I didn't."

He looked at me. "Good. You're too young, anyway. Love is a big deal. You shouldn't even be thinking about it yet." Then he started to get off the car.

"Too young? You think I'm too young for love?" I scoffed, but my throat hurt when I did. It felt like a slap in the face. Was this his way of telling me I shouldn't love him?

"Yes."

I hopped off the car angrily. "What are you, some kind of Love Expert? You haven't even ever loved anyone before, so I don't think you should be telling me how old I should or shouldn't be to love someone. And I'm _sixteen_, Conrad. Almost seventeen."

"In six months," he corrected me, and I got even madder. He took the blanket from the hood of the car, and I grabbed my bag of Trail Mix. I was so mad that I held the bag tightly, feeling the sharp plastic corners digging into my hand. He didn't even bother folding the blanket, unlike the old Conrad I knew. He just rolled it up into a ball and tossed it into the backseat.

I stood there, glaring at him as he went around to the driver's seat and got in. He put on his seat belt and waited for me in the car. I wanted to sit down there, in the dirt, and just wait. I knew what he would say if I did that. He would say that I was throwing one of my tantrums, and for me to grow up, to stop acting like a child.

Eventually, I got into the passenger's side, not speaking one word to him. I hugged the bag of Trail Mix close to my chest as he began to drive, wanting to cry. The perfect night, gone to waste.

"You should call your mom," he said to me. "Let her know that we're heading back."

"No," I said, and when I said that, my voice cracked a little. "She's an adult. She can deal."

He didn't say anything after that. He just kept his eyes on the road. Even when he dropped me home, he didn't walk me to my door like he usually did, to say goodbye to my mom. He just sat in the car, like a statue. I thought of that as I walked to the door alone. What a perfect description of him. Stoic, cold, unfeeling, totally incapable of love.

Conrad the Statue, with passerby who came to admire him, while he did absolutely nothing in return.

I was surprised that he was still parked on our street when I had reached my bedroom. I watched him from the window, sitting there, with his hands on the wheel. His lights were still on and his engine was still running. Then, a minute later, he drove away.

ooo

I saw him even before it was my turn to cross the stage. I'd been surveying the crowd from the platform, looking for my mom and Steven in the sea of faces. After a few minutes, I finally found them, sitting in the middle row. My mom waved, and Steven gave me a thumbs up. Even my dad was there, wearing his brown blazer with the suede elbow patches that he only wore out on special occasions.

That's when I saw him. He was sitting behind Steven, wearing a navy blue, long-sleeved button down. Our eyes met, and I instantly turned away. I steadied myself, trying to calm my pulse, as the girl in front of me headed across the stage. I watched her, putting on a smile, and they called my name.

After the ceremony, I went to find my family. I squeezed through people, all smiling and laughing, while my palms began to sweat. For a second, I closed my eyes tightly. He had shown up. He was here. For me. Conrad Fisher had actually shown up, for me.

When I finally found them, I found myself immediately crushed into a big bear hug from Steven. He smelled like cologne and toothpaste. Then it was my mom, who whispered how proud she was of me, and my dad.

"Nice jacket, Dad," I said, as I hugged him tight.

"You know me. Gotta look good for my daughter's big day," he said. His eyes looked a little red. From behind him, Steven was miming to let me know that my dad had definitely been crying, which made me hold him even tighter.

When we pulled back, Conrad was behind him, waiting. He was smiling at me. When I looked at him, my heart felt so full it hurt. Everything rushed back to me. Old Belly, loving him blindly and passionately, no matter what – the only possible way you could love the first person you ever loved. And the new Belly, older now, knowing better, freshly graduated from college. Two different versions of me, combined, yet however they were different, there was one thing they had in common: they still loved Conrad Fisher. Both in the new and old way.

"Hi," I said, letting out a breath.

"Hey," he said back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: One last chapter after this! Please review!


	8. Part 8

**A/N:** Officially in the home-stretch! This is the last chapter! Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm re-posting this chapter - I wasn't satisfied with the shortness of it, originally, so I added some stuff in.

**- Part Eight -**

After the ceremony, we all went out to eat. I took them to the Golden Cricket, where Steven ended up devouring one plate of duck and another of crispy noodle all by himself. I noticed that my mom was smiling and laughing a lot more, and I wondered if she'd known that Conrad was going to come – or if he had surprised her, too. Even Steven seemed like he'd had no idea. He kept giving Conrad man-hugs, or claps on the back, telling him how good it was to see him.

"Seriously, though, Con," Steven said, shoveling fried rice into his mouth. "How'd you get a ticket?"

My mom, Steven, and I all looked at Conrad. My dad, who wasn't as in the loop as the rest of my family, was busy scraping more chow mein onto his plate.

"I mean," Steven said, "you don't just buy grad tickets at the gate. You get them ahead of time."

My mom dabbed her lips with a napkin, and I could have sworn I saw her try to hide a smile.

Conrad shrugged, putting down his glass. "I got lucky," was all he said.

Steven nodded, but winked at him. Then he turned to my mom and asked her to pass the chicken.

"Steven, the amount of food you're eating could feed a small village in Africa," I said. In front of me, Conrad chuckled. "For a week."

"What? I didn't eat breakfast this morning," he said. "Plus, Sash's got me on this diet thing with her. I haven't had Chinese food in, like, three months."

"A _diet_? Steven Conklin," I said, smirking, "I do believe you are whipped."

This time, my mom laughed. So was Conrad, bowing his head down, his body shaking with laughter.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Shut up, Belly. It might be your big graduation day, but I'll still give you a noogie," he said. And then he winked at me. Steven had never winked this much before. Maybe it was something he had picked up from his boss, Adam Greenfeld.

After lunch, my mom invited everybody over to the house for drinks, especially Conrad. I silently watched her as she hugged him in the parking lot. She hugged him for a long time, the way a mom hugs a son she hasn't seen in years.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to the house with us?" she said, when she pulled back. She looked him straight in the eyes.

"Maybe I'll swing by a little later," he said. "It's good seeing you, Laure."

The way Conrad said this, I knew he meant it. He had that kind of tenderness in his voice, and it was also on his face. When Conrad Fisher really meant something, you knew it, because you could not only see it – but you could feel it, too.

She nodded, letting her arms fall to her side. She began to walk to her car. "Don't be a stranger, Conrad. I mean it."

Conrad had only parked one spot away from mine, so I watched him as he and Steven gave each other a man-hug, clapping each other on the back. I heard Steven tell him that it was good to see him, and that they should hang out whenever Conrad was down here and he was free. "I'm part of a paintball team now," Steven said proudly. "And on the weekends, I play golf with the big boss man. But I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you joined us one weekend."

And then Steven leaned in and said something inaudible to him. Conrad nodded and smiled a little, before Steven started walking towards my mom's car.

"See ya, Bells!" he called out to me. "Catch you at the house!"

I nodded at him, before turning back at Conrad. He was still standing there, looking at me. I rested my keys on my car, before approaching him. Just being near him made me dizzy – dizzy with wonder, with hope, with pure emotion. And the way he looked at me – the way he had looked at me the entire day, even through lunch and the ceremony. Like we were the only two people in the room.

"It was nice seeing you," I said to him, smiling. I kept my hands to my sides. "Thanks for coming."

His face was so close to mine. If I just leaned in a little, we could be kissing. But I didn't. Instead I just watched him as he looked at me, before his eyes wandered down to my neck, where they lingered for a moment, before traveling back to my face.

"The necklace," he said. "It looks good on you."

I touched it with my fingers. "Thanks." I began to back away, smiling the best smile I could. It felt strained against my face. "I'll see you around," I said, and he nodded, before I turned around and headed back to my car. I waited to see his car drive out of the lot first. Then I drove.

Maybe it was true, what they said about love making you crazy. Love by itself is chaotic and impulsive and reckless. But when a person loves someone, they make decisions, even if those decisions feel like they had to have been made by themselves. Decisions don't make themselves. People do. You can decide to give in, or you can decide to pull away.

ooo

I was halfway to the house when I suddenly found myself making a U-Turn. I didn't even realize it was something I had decided until I heard the screech of my tires and a honk from car coming opposite of me, and I was turning around.

These were the moments when I surprised even myself, where the action actually came before the deliberating and deciding. But maybe I _had_ decided. Maybe I'd decided the moment I saw him there, in the crowd, at my graduation. Because it had to mean something, and I was sure it did. Conrad Fisher did not just show up just to show up. Conrad Fisher believed in gestures. And I knew, from the very first letter I had received from him in Spain, that he had been trying to prove that to me all along.

I didn't know whether Conrad was really going to be stopping by the house later, like he'd told my mom. But I couldn't take my chances, and I knew exactly where he was staying.

I just hoped he stayed long enough for me to catch him.

ooo

Three weeks after Jeremiah's and my almost-wedding, Steven surprised me with a visit. I knew it had to be a big deal because Steven hardly ever visited me. Every now and then he would call, but that was reserved for special occasions, like planning Mom's birthday, or to ask what size shirt Dad wore now.

When I opened the door, he was standing there with a box of donuts. It was a baby blue box, and I knew that it could only mean one thing: he had gotten it from my favorite donut shop from back home, _Stella's_. They made the best jelly-filled donuts, covered in powdered sugar. Those were my favorite, because they were the sweetest.

"Look what I brought," he said, smiling. "Just for you, Jelly Belly."

He brought the box in and set it on the kitchen counter, looking around. I thanked him, and opened the box. Three were missing.

"I got hungry on the drive here," he explained, not the least bit apologetic.

I picked up one covered in powdered sugar. On the side I could see were the jelly was almost seeping out. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Mom sent me," he said. He picked up a glazed donut from the box and bit into it. I never knew why I got so much grief for loving sweets – Steven was just as bad, if not worse. "But don't be fooled. The donuts were my idea." He chewed his donut, still looking around. "Hey, this is a nice apartment. Nice location, too. The elevator is always stuck at my apartment complex, but yours works nice and smooth."

I studied him. "Why did Mom send you?"

"Just to see how you are," he said, shrugging. "It's like all three of you dropped off the face of the planet. You, Jere, Con – we haven't heard from any of you. Con, especially. It's like he just disappeared. Mom didn't say so, but she's worried. You know how she is. Warrior Face and all."

And then he looked at me, all serious. Which it shouldn't have been, because Steven had some glaze on the tip of his nose. "So. How are you?"

"I'm fine," I said. I wiped some powdered sugar from my mouth. "I don't know why Mom is so worried about me. I just talked to her last week."

Steven was quiet. "Have you heard anything? From either of them?"

"No," I said, trying to sound matter-of-factly, but my voice fell flat, and dull. "Nothing."

He nodded. "I knew, you know. About Conrad. Especially when he started getting all moody that one summer – even though I wasn't there for all of it, I knew. But what do you do? You can't say anything. You can't even let on that you know. Could you blame me, Belly? I just wanted things to stay the same. The way things were changing. . . it meant we were growing up, and it meant that sooner or later. . ." he trailed off. He bit into his donut again.

I shook my head. "Nothing about what happened was your fault, Steven."

He looked at me. "Do you remember that day you swam out too far, and Conrad went to get you?"

I nodded.

"I had no idea he was going to go in after you. I mean, Mom was screaming at me – nobody even had their eyes on Conrad. And then suddenly, he was already in the water. I was relieved, because I didn't know if I could swim out to you and come back, but I hated him, too. I don't know why. And then later on I realized why it had to be Conrad. It just always was, for some reason. You didn't even have to ask him, he just did it."

I didn't realize I'd stopped eating my donut. The strawberry jelly was oozing out on to my hand.

"And then you guys went to prom, and things were different." He paused. "_He_ was different."

I looked away. I tried not to think of my prom. It was ancient history buried away in my memory box. Even now, when I remembered that night, I felt hurt and disappointed, and I hated him for ruining it for me. Because that was what he did. He dressed it up, all nice and pretty, and then he stepped all over it.

"All of that's in the past," I said to Steven. "When you think about it, it really doesn't have anything to do with the future."

Just because you thought you were meant for someone didn't actually mean you were going to be with them, in the end. Look at me and Conrad. Look at me and Jeremiah.

He shook his head. "Maybe they're MIA for now, but we grew up together, and they both love you." He stood up, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "You'll see them again. Maybe soon."

That's when he said he had to head home – but not before taking another donut. "For the ride back," he said, grinning at me in that impish way he did.

"You keep eating that way, and no girl's going to want you," I called out to him.

"Speak for yourself," he said back to me. "Don't think I saw that carton of rocky road ice cream in the trashcan!"

Old Belly, kid Belly, would have stamped her feet and called Steven mean. But I just stood in the door way, waving back when he did, smiling to myself. Sometimes I forgot that Steven had a different perspective than all of us, an eagle's eye view of the mess that was me, Jeremiah, and Conrad. I had always thought that Steven was just oblivious – or he didn't care. I knew better now. I was glad he was there.

ooo

When I finally got to the summer house, his car wasn't in the driveway like I thought it would be. I sat in my car for a second, trying to figure out what to do. Had he really just come and gone, just like that?

I went up the wooden steps, using the spare key from underneath the loose plank in the corner. I called his name as I entered the house, but there was no response. Everything was perfectly neat, as if not a single soul had even ghosted by in the last few months. There wasn't even any trace of sand trailed inside the house. As I looked, even running up the stairs to see if he was in his room, I felt my eyes get hot and my vision get blurry. My chest tightened with disappointment and regret. I let my breath out in one shallow, jagged exhale.

There was nobody in the summer house but me. Conrad was gone, and I had let him slip away.

Suddenly, I found myself shoving the sliding door open. I walked out, awkwardly trying to unbuckle my heels while carelessly wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. When I finally got my feet free, I left my shoes in the sand. Then I ran.

I ran down the shore, towards the ocean. I could feel the sand giving way underneath my feet, and smell that salty ocean smell, and hear the gentle movement of the waves. I ran so that I wouldn't collapse, because if I stopped, I knew I would. I knew that if I could just make it to the water, I would be fine. If I could just get far enough to swim, I wouldn't crumble.

Before I got to the water, I stopped to get myself out of my dress. I unzipped the back and stepped out of it, leaving it in the sand. I thought I heard something, a voice, but by that time I had already dove into the water. I pushed myself forward, using my arms and legs, holding my breath until my lungs felt like they were on the brink of bursting. That was when I broke my head above the water, but I didn't stop. I kept swimming.

I hadn't swum in so long, and it was liberating in a way that nothing else could be. Once I started swimming, I felt as if I could never stop. Like I could swim forever, until I reached the other end of the ocean – until I had to stop, or I would die.

Nothing mattered when I swam. There was no Conrad, Susannah wasn't dead, Jeremiah didn't hate our guts – nothing bad existed there. When I swam, all that mattered was moving forward, constantly. Things were that simple. The real world was complicated. Full of mixed messages and cruel words and disappointment – things that sank you down in the water, like a coat of chains, instead of moved you through it.

I didn't realize that somebody was calling my name, until they got close enough that I couldn't mistake it as anything else. By then, I was in the middle of the ocean. The shore was so far away, and I could feel the exhaustion start to catch up to my body. The only time I had ever swam out this far was when I was younger, and Conrad had to come and get me to bring me back to shore.

That's when I saw him, swimming towards me. He wasn't far away at all, and that's how I knew he had been swimming after me for a while. Maybe even since the beginning.

When he was close enough, I yelled out to him. "What are you doing here?" I asked him. Because I had looked everywhere, and he hadn't been there at all. Not at the house, not anywhere. Just gone.

"I saw you," he said. He stopped when there was still some distance between us. He was breathing hard. "So I went after you."

"You didn't have to," I said to him. In front of us, the sun was starting to set. Even in the freezing water, I felt my face get hot. "I was just swimming. It wasn't like I was going to do something stupid."

He shook his head. "I came," he said, his eyes looking stormy and blue just like the water around us, "because I told you I would."

I closed my mouth, just looking at him. I didn't know what to say. His hair was dark from the water, sticking to his forehead in clumps, and the wind made us both momentarily shiver. In the far distance, I could see the pile where he had left his clothes on the beach.

"I love you," he said.

I felt my heart swell. I dazedly shook my head. "That's not enough."

"I know. I know that, Belly. That's why I showed up today, and the other day, all those months ago, when we saw each other here. Why I started writing you those letters. I wanted to do it right, this time. I wanted to finally deserve you – because I didn't back then. I didn't, and I knew it, and I think you did, too. Even Jeremiah did."

I swallowed hard, feeling the water move us along gently. I watched him, and the way he was looking at me – desperate, honest, vulnerable. He'd looked at me this way once before, on this same beach, and I had turned away. It wasn't a question of whether he meant what he said. It was a question of whether he would keep his word. It was easy to make a promise; difficult to keep it.

"How do I know?" I asked him, my throat hoarse. "How do I know you won't just leave again?"

Somehow, some way, the tide had brought us closer together. I could see the beads of saltwater on his face now, the strands of blond hair clinging to the nape of his neck. I could even see where he had cut himself shaving this morning, a tiny healing cut along the curvature of his jaw. I wanted to run my finger against it, to feel that it was real. That he was real, and here, with me.

"I'm not that guy anymore, Belly. The guy who ran away when things got too serious, or too hard, when everybody needed him the most," he said. "That's not me. It hasn't been for a long time now." His Adam's apple moved inside the skin of his throat, and he looked inside my eyes imploringly. "I need you to know that."

I blinked, before I closed my eyes. The air was getting colder around us. Inside my chest, my heart was responding to every single word he was saying without pause. It was saying, _Take him back_, with every beat. _Take him back. Take him back_. _Take him back._

"Conrad, you live in California now," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "It would never work with us."

"Come with me," he said, and he was closer now, closer than before. "Belly, I'm asking you to be with me. Come with me to California. If you hate it, you can leave. You can come back here." His eyes searched mine. I hadn't realized that I had started holding my breath. "But at least try, with me. Please."

My head felt dizzy with the barrage of thoughts that erupted from what he was asking, but I only saw him. Conrad Fisher, here in the middle of the ocean with me, asking me to come with him to California. And yet all I could think about was that day, the day he swam after me all of those years ago, the way he panted the entire way as he swam me back to shore, telling me that we were almost there. And I believed him, because he was Conrad. He was my Conrad.

I felt a smile steal across my face, and this seemed to surprise him for a second. I looked towards the shore, and then behind us, to the sunset. The sky glowed tangerine and pink, making Conrad's skin blush.

"I'll race you for it," I said to him. "To the shore. If you win, then I'll go with you. To California. And if I win. . . you have to do an Irish jig for me."

I didn't wait for his answer. I had already pulled myself underwater and started to swim.

ooo

Conrad didn't call me after our fight that night out on the hood of his car, while we had been playing Truth or Dare and eating Trail Mix. I waited, and waited, but he never called. I would stare at his name in my cell phone address book as I waited to fall asleep, tempted to call him just to yell at him, but I never did. I wanted him to see that I was grown up.

It was on a Friday night. I'd been invited to a party with Taylor but I backed out, telling her that I had some work to make up for history. That wasn't true. I had one of the highest grades in history. I just wanted to sulk and watch Pretty in Pink and eat the donuts my mom had brought me from _Stella's_.

My mom was out at a colleague's birthday party, and I was all alone. I was sitting in my room, eating my second powdered jelly-filled donut, right in the middle of when Andie and Blaine were about to meet again at the prom – when I heard it. Faintly, at first. So faintly that I thought that it was coming from the movie. But then it got louder, and I couldn't mistake it. It sounded like Irish music. Bagpipes. Lots and lots of bagpipes.

I paused the movie and went over to my window, lifting it up to see what was going on outside. We had an Irish neighbor, but not once had I ever heard of him having a party and playing Irish bagpipe music. And that's when I saw him. Conrad, standing in my yard. The windows to his car were rolled down, and that's where the music was coming from.

When he saw me, he raised up something he was holding. It was the biggest bag of Trail Mix I had ever seen, the kind that my mom bought for long trips from Costco.

"I think," he called out to me, "I owe you a do-over."

ooo

He got there before I did, exhausted and freezing, but smiling from his victory. I stood up, walking over to him, with jelly knees. Conrad had always been a faster swimmer than me, and I knew that. Even if I had been on the swim team in high school.

When I reached him, he cupped my face in his hand, and kissed me, slow and deep. His lips were cold and salty, but I didn't mind, because when he kissed me, every single molecule inside my body sang. And nobody, not even Jeremiah, kissed me the way Conrad did. He kissed me like he could kiss me forever, without tire. Like I was the only girl he ever wanted to kiss. Like I was his Belly. Belly Conklin, the girl from the summer house. The only girl that he had ever taught to dance. The only girl that ever knew how to make Conrad Fisher laugh, and forget. The girl who loved him with everything she had. Past, present, future. Always.

Some love stories end with people riding off into the sunset. But Conrad and I, we were born in the water, underneath the gold summer sun. We swam off into it.

End.


End file.
